


The Man I Knew

by hvanwoong



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Flashbacks, Knight!Hwanwoong, Knights and Kings, M/M, prince!youngjo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvanwoong/pseuds/hvanwoong
Summary: Prince Youngjo lost a part of himself when his most skilled knight, his closest confidante, Hwanwoong was captured by the enemy. With his lover assumed to be dead, Youngjo has thrown himself into prince-hood and warfare to cover his despair.When Hwanwoong appears bloodied and beaten in the forest three years later with no explanation, it is clear that he has changed.He might even be dangerous.For Youngjo, admitting so is another matter.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 123
Kudos: 354





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мужчина, которого я знал // The Man I Knew](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470515) by [Glasscherbe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glasscherbe/pseuds/Glasscherbe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo <3 It’s me back again! No one will be surprised that I like everyone else after seeing the Come Back Home concept film could not resist starting a project. This piece is inspired by those aesthetics but it’s not a fantasy nor does it have any of the video’s canon. I’m a sucker for knights and kings, I could not stop myself. This is my first time writing a fic that uses two timelines, with scenes from the past and the present, so I hope that the format reads okay ^-^
> 
> TW// Graphic descriptions of violence (battle, injury), references to torture (not described in detail), flashbacks, trauma

Youngjo has never feared ghosts. If they drag their feet through the forest, across long-buried battlegrounds, then they do so in silence, invisible. They don’t haunt his dreams, not the way that they sneak up on some of his knights and soldiers while they sleep. Sometimes, he wishes that they would. Not the dying faces from the battlefield, the ones who clutched at his wrist with bloodied faces and begged for release, or for mercy, but other ghosts. Ghosts that he would give anything to reach out and catch a hold of, to bring into his embrace one more time.

He guides his horse a little way from the hunt, out amongst the trees. No one follows him, because without his instruction who would dare? Youngjo is not only the heir apparent to the throne, but with his father’s poor health, he’s all but taken the crown already.

The hunt is a celebratory one, held in honour of the Kim dynasty’s anniversary, and fifty riders from the inner circle of the palace are amongst the attendees. They have spread out in the forest in groups, competing for the biggest trophies, but they ride with jubilant excitement, shouts and cheers ringing amongst the trees – far too loud if they want to catch anything worth taking home.

Youngjo’s horse is dressed in purple cloth and the saddle is gleaming black leather, cut just for him. When he approaches the river that weaves through the forest, he dismounts. Though his bow is over his shoulder for the sake of the hunt, he keeps his sword close at his belt, the hilt encrusted with gleaming amethyst. These woods are his land, but he knows that for a prince no territory is ever truly safe. He crouches down at the water’s edge and collects a pool of cold water in his hands to sip.

The stream is only three or four feet wide, here, and Youngjo can touch his fingertips all the way to the smooth pebbles at the bottom. He lifts one out and turns it over in his palm. It is a hot day, the tree canopy offering some shelter but the sun breaking through in shafts of light. The pebble dries so quickly in his hand that it’s as if it were never under the water at all. Youngjo slides in into the pouch at his belt and stands.

‘Sire!’

Youngjo looks up. It is usually his knights who address him as such, and sure enough Geonhak and Seoho have broken through the trees, the former riding a sleek black steed and the latter a palomino, hooves pawing at the ground like it is eager to get back to the action. ‘Dongju has picked up the trail of a wild boar,’ says Geonhak. He is one of the oldest amongst Youngjo’s inner circle of knights, and they have been friends since childhood.

Youngjo remembers when they trained together out in the courtyard, under the watchful eye of his father. He remembers even when they played with wooden swords, chasing each other through the halls of the palace and accidentally knocking trays from the hands of servants with gasping, laughing apologies.

‘Of course, I’d expect nothing less from our tracker,’ says Youngjo of Dongju with a smile. He’s the youngest of his inner circle, and less skilled with a sword than his comrades, but his abilities are not to be ignored. He can track a man across miles, hunt down spies with terrifying precision, and he can be ruthless, too, when he needs to be in Youngjo’s name. ‘I’ll follow on.’

He pats the neck of his horse, a beautiful white steed, and turns back once more to the river. A frown finds its way onto his face. He senses something moving in the trees, and swivels his body fully around, drawing his bow. Perhaps he has found luck in the strangest place on the hunt.

Then, though, there is a snap of twigs that Youngjo knows from pure instinct is not from an animal. He lowers his bow at the exact same moment that Geonhak and Seoho unsheathe their swords with a sharp scrape of metal across the throats of the scabbards. ‘Get behind me, Sire!’ says Geonhak as the two of them run forward, pushing Youngjo behind them.

He grits his teeth in frustration, more than capable of defending himself, and drops his bow to mimic their action instead. A figure moves in the distance, stepping out from under the cover of the trees and stumbling to the water. Stumble, he does, Youngjo is sure. Even from this distance he can see that the stranger is unsteady on his feet, and he lowers his sword an inch or two; he does not look like a threat. Drunk, perhaps? _No_. When Youngjo squints, the sun cutting through the canopy to bow his eyes, he can see the blood.

Still, he drops his sword more and takes a few steps forward.

‘Sire - ’ begins Seoho, making to block his way, but Youngjo pushes past.

His palm sweats in the heat, slipping on the hilt of his sword, but he moves forward without hesitation. This is his land, and he fears no one, not even the ghosts. This stranger is not part of the hunt, does not seem to be part of anything in this world at all because he doesn’t appear to have noticed the three of them, armed and clothed in finery. A buzz of energy channels into Youngjo’s veins, interest that the banality of a hunt never gives him.

When he gets closer, the two knights following closely in his wake, he makes out that the figure is small, hunched over, teetering by the bank of the stream. His sword starts to hang lax at his side.

‘Declare yourself!’ shouts Geonhak, and Youngjo half turns to him with a roll of his eyes before looking back. He takes one step forward, and then as the man looks up he stops. The standstill is so abrupt that Seoho and Geonhak almost crash into him, and Seoho looks his way with a worried expression. His reaction makes the two of them more tense, and they lift their swords like they’re ready to make a charge.

Youngjo just stands.

He stands and stands, because he’s seen a ghost before him and his body does not know how to respond.

His heart beats his brain, jumping to a pace so fast that he thinks he’ll collapse. It pounds at his chest, clawing to burst out from behind the bone, and his lungs constrict. The sweat on his hands turns cold and begins to bead too at his forehead, like all the moisture has been sucked from his dry mouth and channelled there instead. ‘Don’t,’ he says, voice hoarse, when Seoho starts forward.

They haven’t realised.

Hwanwoong is hardly recognisable, but of course Youngjo recognises him. It’s testament to the ceaseless deadening of memory from three years of agony that Youngjo did not identify him for so long, not until they reached mere metres apart. But recognise him he does now, beneath a sheen of fresh shimmering scarlet and a dark shadow of older, dried blood on his face and his neck and stained in his clothes.

Youngjo staggers forward, like he’s forgotten how to use his legs. He has.

The figure, the ghost, the mirage of Hwanwoong drops to one knee, catching himself from falling all the way to the ground with one shaking arm. He’s half-dressed, barely covered by torn material, and unarmed. Perhaps that is why Seoho and Geonhak start to lower their swords too.

Youngjo tries to speak, but his throat constricts. If this is a dream then it’s a vicious one to have after all of these years. If Hwanwoong is a ghost then it’s cruel of him to appear now, after so long, just when Youngjo dragged himself back to his feet. If the figure before him is a living, breathing Hwanwoong, then he does not know what is left to feel, what is left to do.

‘Hwanwoong?’ Geonhak’s voice, and that means it’s too real.

Youngjo’s heart writhes in his chest. He throws his sword aside and closes the last of the gap between them most unsteady on his feet. ‘Woong - ’ he drops down in front of him, on his knees to his level and there is no denying it here, their faces only inches apart.

The figure is Hwanwoong. His hair is matted with blood and grime, and his lip is split and swollen purple. Three deep gashes are cut down his left cheek, crusted with old blood and tingeing at the edges with infection. None of it matters though, because even half-closed Youngjo knows his eyes.

They hold the galaxy in sparkling black and gold.

‘Hwanwoong,’ he chokes out.

Hwanwoong meets his eyes and parts his lips. Words don’t make it out, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Youngjo raises a shaking hand to touch his cheek, avoiding the dark red cuts, and cups his jaw gently.

‘Don’t speak,’ he whispers, ‘you don’t have to talk.’

Somewhere, amongst the hunt, a fanfare sounds, but the blaring is distant to Youngjo’s rushing ears. His world is trembling beneath him, both the earth beneath his knees and Hwanwoong’s skin beneath his fingers. ‘I - ’ starts Hwanwoong.

‘Ssh,’ murmurs Youngjo. His eyes feel hot and start to sting, and he blinks over and over, reminding himself to stay present. ‘It’s okay.’

‘I f-found – you,’ says Hwanwoong, words broken and slurred, and then he falls forward.

Youngjo catches him, clutches his broken body to his chest, a ghost in his arms, and remembers a time when the world still turned.

~

_It was a time when Youngjo felt weightless. Hwanwoong was in his arms but he was light as anything, asleep against his chest, hair splayed out over Youngjo’s skin. Sunlight spilled in through the narrow window in the stone wall, and it glanced off Hwanwoong’s skin like gold-dust. Youngjo traced a circle on Hwanwoong’s bare back, and then grazed his thumb down his spine, rising and falling with each delicate ridge._

_He settled his hand at his hip and shifted him a little further up his body. Hwanwoong sighed against his neck and buried his face there. Outside, the palace was waking up, but Youngjo kept his body quite still once he was comfortable, determined to allow the man in his arms to rest. Hwanwoong had been working too hard, always the first on the training grounds and always the last to leave. His hands were calloused from wielding his sword, and Youngjo had even taken some oil from the ladies in waiting of his sister just to massage into his skin to soften the damage._

_‘It’s past dawn,’ whispered Hwanwoong when he finally stirred._

_‘Ssh,’ Youngjo hushed him, running his fingers into his hair. ‘You don’t have to say anything. Just sleep.’_

_Hwanwoong laughed, but he didn’t protest. He wrapped an arm over Youngjo’s waist and closed his eyes again._

~

Youngjo can barely keep his hands steady on the reins as he turns his horse back towards the town. Hwanwoong is in the saddle in front of him, head lolling back against his shoulder. He was painfully light when Youngjo lifted him up with the help of Geonhak, and Youngjo could feel his bones through his skin. He can feel them now, and with every pound of the horse’s hooves he winces, afraid that Hwanwoong will break with the impact.

Whether the hunt is abandoned or not is immaterial to him. He does not announce his departure, and if people begin to notice his absence then he is sure the news will filter through. Geonhak returned to the hunt to assure people that no harm had come to Youngjo, while Seoho rides close behind him back to the castle. He offered to take Hwanwoong himself, but Youngjo refused to let him out of his sight.

He thinks that he’ll never let Hwanwoong out of his sight ever again.

Three winters.

Were the winters in the Sun City less cruel than the ones here? Youngjo hopes so. The thought of Hwanwoong alone, cold, far from home and afraid, sends bugs crawling under Youngjo’s skin. It’s a thought that kept him awake at night, the first year. If Hwanwoong was somehow alive, what was he feeling? He told himself over and over that Hwanwoong would not be afraid; he was the bravest knight that Youngjo had ever known. But no amount of command can prevent the mind from thinking what it thinks.

‘Okay?’ he says, close to Hwanwoong’s ear, when he stops outside the city gates.

Hwanwoong doesn’t respond. Youngjo’s horse paws at the ground but Youngjo pulls up the reins. He takes the water gourd from his belt.

‘Do you need to drink?’ he asks, as if Hwanwoong will answer that. He’s no physician. He needs to get him to the castle. The smell of blood is heavy on him and he doesn’t need any experience in medicine to know that Hwanwoong is not… right. Since the last words that he uttered, he’s struggled to say anything else at all. Youngjo isn’t sure if he still recognises him. His skin is clammy, feverish, and his eyes roll up strangely whenever he tilts his head back.

When Youngjo tries to bring water to his lips, Hwanwoong rejects it, turning his head away. Youngjo thinks about gripping his jaw, holding him there to make him drink, but he doesn’t have it in him. He’s never had it in him to be rough with Hwanwoong. He recalls their adolescence on the training grounds, when he never brought his best to their sparring even though in retrospect Hwanwoong could have taken it. He’d always been scared of hurting him.

‘I’ll take you to the physician,’ he whispers. ‘We’ll get you well.’

The court physician is a trusted friend of his, Dongheon. When they were younger, Dongheon was the assistant to the old physician, an orphan picked up by Youngjo’s father after one of their villages fell under siege from the men of Helios. Now though, he is the finest physician in the land, and already has apprentices under his tutelage despite his young age. Youngjo would trust him with Hwanwoong, he will trust him with Hwanwoong.

If the guards at the gates are shocked by what they see before them, then they do not show it. Perhaps they lower their heads in deference so quickly that they don’t even notice, but Youngjo rides into the citadel at pace, cleaving a path through the courtyard with Seoho following close in his wake. The palace itself is protected by high, fortified walls, but the portcullis is open at this time of day and the guards laze around, one propping himself up on his own sword.

They all jump to attention when they see Youngjo, but he is past them in a second. In the sandy courtyard he half-dismounts, pausing as he tries to figure out how best to do this. Seoho catches up and jumps from his horse first to help him. It’s an awkward motion, not befitting of a prince, but Youngjo manages to lift Hwanwoong down into Seoho’s waiting arms. It hurts to pass him over to another, but Youngjo would trust Seoho with his life, and Seoho might just be holding it.

People spill into the courtyard from the palace and surrounding towers, the anxiety painted of their faces indicating that they think something has gone wrong in the hunt. Relief shows when they see that it is not Youngjo who is wounded, that their prince has not been crushed by his horse or gored by a wild animal. He hates their relief. It makes him clench his fists at his side.

‘Give him to me,’ he says quietly to Seoho.

Seoho helps wrap one of Hwanwoong’s arms over his shoulder. He’s only semi-conscious, struggling to stand, and Seoho does not let go of his side. ‘Let me help you,’ he says, and there’s an instruction in his voice. Even though Youngjo is the prince, amongst his knights he has always tried to stress himself as an equal; they are a team, and they move as one. Youngjo nods and allows Seoho to steer Hwanwoong from the left side.

‘Your grace - ’ people step forward as if to help, but he knows that what they really want is to ask questions. There’s a buzz of excitement as much as worry, and blood boils under Youngjo’s skin. He takes almost all of Hwanwoong’s weight on him, all but lifting him off the ground to move through the palace with more haste. Seoho trips on a flagstone just trying to keep up.

‘Youngjo-hyung,’ winces Seoho, switching to the more informal address that they use in their brotherhood. ‘Why do you think he was in the forest?’

He doesn’t answer. Until now, he hasn’t allowed himself to entertain thoughts other than how to bring Hwanwoong to safety. The image of him bloodied by the edge of the water is seared into his brain. _Why_. _Why there_?

Word travels through the castle quicker than they do, and Dongheon is already outside his chamber and halfway down the corridor when they approach. His dark eyes meet Youngjo’s with a look of sheer disbelief. ‘He - ’ he begins.

‘Need to lie him down,’ grunts Youngjo, pushing into the room without pause.

It’s a large chamber, separated into a semi-circle of bookshelves and a desk and trays and trays of glass and ceramic bottles and jars to the left, and to the right a space with two pallets and a table on wheels holding Dongheon’s most important medical implements. There is someone else unconscious on the other bed, but Youngjo ignores their presence and lifts Hwanwoong onto the low pallet.

Hwanwoong’s head rolls to one side, but his eyes are still just open. Youngjo pushes the hair back from his forehead, his hand coming away wet with blood. A jagged wound carves a zig-zag just amongst his hairline, as if he’s been hit by something heavy and metal.

‘Where did you find him?’ whispers Dongheon, like he’s afraid of waking the dead.

‘In the forest,’ says Youngjo.

‘Conscious?’ asks Dongheon. He steps beside Youngjo and tilts Hwanwoong’s face further to the side to look at the inflamed cuts on his cheek.

‘Yes,’ pipes up Seoho, ‘he was stumbling through the trees. But he didn’t look well. He didn’t even notice us when we got close to him.’

‘Did he recognise you?’ Dongheon asks Youngjo as he picks up a clear bottle of liquid and pours some out onto a white cloth.

Youngjo nods. ‘He did. At first. But he’s confused. He couldn’t answer any questions I asked him.’

Dongheon dabs away some of the crust on Hwanwoong’s cheek and Youngjo’s stomach turns over when the deepest wound leaks a bubble of blood mixed with white. ‘The infection has made him feverish,’ murmurs Dongheon. With deft fingers, he tears open the neck of Hwanwoong’s shirt and exposes the sweat on his chest, which rises and falls too fast to be normal. Youngjo jumps a little, instinct leaping to stop someone from touching Hwanwoong like this, but he knots his hands together. ‘Fetch my apprentices,’ says Dongheon, ‘I need someone to clean up all the blood. I cannot examine him properly like this.’

Seoho bows quickly and follows his order without hesitation, even though such errands are not the responsibility of one of the kingdom’s knights.

‘I can clean the blood,’ says Youngjo, an activity even less becoming of a prince.

Dongheon does not say so, though. He nods over to a large white basin against the arc of the chamber’s stone walls. ‘Collect some water. Don’t rub over any of his wounds. I will treat them myself.’

Youngjo flits around the room with the dedication of a servant, filling a small bowl with water and picking up a pile of cloth. It does not feel improper. For Hwanwoong, he would kneel and supplicate if that was what it took. He returns as Seoho brings in the two apprentices of Dongheon. They both look very young, too young to take the care of Youngjo’s whole life in their hands.

‘Kangmin, prepare a tincture for fever,’ instructs Dongheon, without looking up. ‘You know how to do it. I have shown you.’

‘I want you to do it yourself,’ says Youngjo through tight teeth.

Dongheon finally looks up and meets his eyes. ‘Do not bring a patient to me and then reject the treatment I offer, your grace.’ If anyone else spoke to the prince with such abruptness, Youngjo is sure they would be punished, but he bites his tongue. ‘My apprentices are more than capable. Yongseung, you will come here to suture this wound.’

Distracted, Youngjo brushes his damp cloth over the blossoming purple bruise at Hwanwoong’s collarbone, and Hwanwoong lets out a weak whine of pain. Guilt washes over Youngjo and he drops the cloth, heart unstable in its pounding. He cannot stop staring at it, red in the centre from impact, purple in body and greenish-yellow at the edges as it begins to age. The bone is surely broken. Bile bubbles in his stomach and he turns away. He cannot wretch in front of these kids.

‘Step outside, your grace,’ says Dongheon. ‘I would like space to work.’

Youngjo almost argues, determined still not to let Hwanwoong out of his sight, but he feels so sick that he obeys. He stands on shaking legs and Seoho takes his arm as they step out into the corridor again. He flops back against the wall, head thumping the stone, and takes several long, deep breaths. _Hwanwoong is in there_. _Broken on a pallet._ _Breathe_.

‘Are you okay?’ murmurs Seoho.

‘No. Yes. What does okay mean right now?’

‘How do you think he ended up in the forest?’ asks Seoho, and it frustrates Youngjo that he’s asking again because why should there be any questions now except for _when will he recover_? But he knows inside that Seoho is right to ask. The problem is that Youngjo does not have an adequate answer.

‘I don’t know,’ he says honestly. ‘He must have… escaped.’

‘Sun City is a very long way away. And he was unarmed, how could he have escaped their dungeon?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He’s been there three years, hyung. He’s very weak. I can’t think of how he would’ve - ’

‘I don’t know, Seoho,’ he snaps, voice hard this time. He kneads his forehead with his palm. ‘When he’s conscious, he’ll tell us.’

_When he’s conscious…_

Youngjo does not know how long he can wait. Three years has been long enough already.

~

_‘He’ll never be a knight,’ jeered one of the older squires, one closer in age to Youngjo, when Hwanwoong was knocked to the ground in the centre of the circle. ‘Look at him.’_

_It was the first time that Youngjo saw him fight. Hwanwoong had become a squire at fifteen, and his knight brought him here to the citadel when the Kim dynasty began their most recent war against the men of Sun City. Youngjo understood why the others laughed. Hwanwoong was the youngest and the smallest, slender in frame and with a pretty, delicate face not suited for the battlefield. Still, he did not laugh himself._

_The older boy fighting Hwanwoong knocked his sword away and then kicked up dust in his face where he lay. Everyone laughed, except for Youngjo._

_The boy turned his back, returning to the crowd to accept his praise._

_Youngjo, though, watched as Hwanwoong rolled onto his side, winded and coughing, and reached out a shaking arm for his sword. When he edged far enough to close his fingers around the hilt, he picked himself up and started forwards. With his back turned, the older boy did not prepare for the harsh whack of the flat of the sword against his back and he stumbled forwards into the crowd of onlookers._

_When he rounded on Hwanwoong, rage on his face, Hwanwoong kicked him,_ hard _, in the stomach, and he staggered back further before drawing his sword again and lunging forwards. Two other squires had to hold him back to stop him doing real damage, but it was only Youngjo who thought to catch hold of Hwanwoong too and haul him away. They underestimated him, then. No one considered him any kind of threat._

_‘Cool down,’ Youngjo breathed against his ear, gripping him tight. ‘Take the win.’_

_None of them realised then that Hwanwoong was stronger than he looked._

~

For three days, Youngjo does not sleep, not really. He drags himself back to his quarters once, to try to sleep in his own bed, but it is no more helpful than the hard chair in Dongheon’s chamber where he’s spent the previous hours. He has refused to attend any official business, or to see anyone other than his knights and Dongheon’s team. Hwanwoong does not wake, showing no signs of consciousness apart from a few mumbled, disjointed words in the midst of his fever that neither Youngjo nor the knights who sat with him could make any sense of.

Today, Keonhee is with him. Of his inner circle of knights: Seoho, Geonhak, Dongju, and Keonhee, the latter is the most patient. During their constant vigil at Hwanwoong’s bedside, Dongju has struggled the most, fidgeting and shifting in his seat until Youngjo sent him away altogether. As of yet, Dongheon has not allowed them all in the room at the same time. Youngjo daydreams about it, about the day when the six of them will be reunited.

Once Hwanwoong is well, he’ll get back to fitness and Youngjo will have a fine new sword forged for him, and then the most revered order of knights in the kingdom will be whole again.

‘Do you think he looks different?’ asks Keonhee in a soft voice.

Youngjo looks up, raising his eyebrows. His eyes are ringed by dark circles, and there’s a tired twitch under his left eye. ‘The scars on his face won’t ever heal,’ he says with a small shrug.

‘I’m not talking about the scars. I mean… him.’

Youngjo turns back to Hwanwoong. He’s peaceful, now, the worst of his fever passed. A white sheet is drawn up over his body, red blanket settled further down only to his waist. ‘It’s been three years. He was only twenty when they took him. It’s just age.’ There’s truth in his words. Hwanwoong’s jaw is sharper and not just because he’s thin; he’s grown into the features he was destined for, the bone structure of a man rather than a boy.

‘Do you think he thought about us?’

‘I’m sure he thought about us all the time,’ says Youngjo, a weight in his stomach. ‘I’m sure he never stopped trying to find a way home to us.’

Guilt settles again. Guilt that he didn’t go and get Hwanwoong back himself. Their spies in the Sun City said that he was dead, tortured to death within days of his capture. They were very clear about it. Their spies, it seems, were wrong. Part of him knows that even with his best men there would have been no way through the fortifications of the Sun City, but he thinks he would have preferred to die trying than live doing nothing.

He brushes his fingers down Hwanwoong’s cheek, across the white bandage fixed over the three gashes, down his jaw and resting his thumb gently on his chin. Keonhee looks down, like he’s embarrassed to intrude on such a moment. Everyone knows, everyone _knew_ about Youngjo and Hwanwoong, but they never touched like this in front of others then. Now, after three years, Youngjo does not care for discretion.

‘Do you think he - ’

‘Does he… ever stop talking?’ whispers Hwanwoong, and their heads snap up.

Youngjo stands, leaning over him and cradling his head. Hwanwoong hasn’t opened his eyes, but his lips are curved in an almost-smile. ‘You know Keonhee,’ says Youngjo, a lump catching in his throat. ‘You remember what he’s like. Go and wake Dongheon!’ he adds to Keonhee with urgency in his voice.

‘I remember,’ says Hwanwoong. His voice is scratchy but still strong in tone as it ever was. When the door snaps shut, his eyes flicker open. One is still bloodshot but the other is back to normal, keen and dark and with a shadow of gold when the torchlight catches. He is more recognisable now, the blood cleaned from his face and his sparkling eyes back alight. Youngjo even washed his hair with his own bare hands, dragged out the mats of blood, wiped away the sweat of Sun City until he could see the familiar colour underneath.

The only thing that has changed is a greyish white streak near the front of his hair. Dongheon said that it could have appeared because of the stress, because of the trauma, but Youngjo tries not to think about that.

‘Are you in pain?’

Hwanwoong swallows, throat bobbing. ‘No.’

If it’s a lie, then it’s a lie that Youngjo chooses not to dwell on. ‘Let me get you water.’ He trips in his haste, knocking over a tray with a clatter, but he doesn’t think about that too much either. ‘Here,’ he says softly as he holds a ceramic cup to Hwanwoong’s lips. He helps him hold up his head, supporting his neck, and Hwanwoong drains the cup in a second. He coughs afterwards, but only once and it’s nothing like the sounds coming from his throat when he was at the height of his fever.

‘How did I get here?’ he whispers, voice a little less hoarse than before.

Youngjo frowns and tilts his head to the side. ‘You don’t remember what happened in the forest? You don’t remember when Seoho and Geonhak and I found you?’

Hwanwoong’s forehead knits in worry.

‘It’s okay, you were feverish,’ adds Youngjo, looking up as Keonhee comes back into the room with Dongheon. He allows himself to be nudged aside by the physician, too relieved and happy to argue, and Keonhee rests a reassuring hand down on his shoulder. ‘We got him back,’ Youngjo whispers to him, and Keonhee nods.

Dongheon tells them that the infection is clearing up well on Hwanwoong’s face, a relief because he feared that it could spread up to his eye. Youngjo itches to talk to Hwanwoong properly, in private, but he cannot bear to send away Keonhee and he’s sure that the others in their circle will arrive too as soon as they hear that Hwanwoong is awake. The physician does not allow Hwanwoong to sit up yet, but he does place soft pillows beneath his head so that he is propped enough to look at them.

‘I’m going to tell the others that he’s woken up,’ says Keonhee. ‘You should take some time with him.’

Youngjo has never been more grateful for Keonhee’s goodness.

He steps back close to Hwanwoong when Dongheon walks away back to his desk to make up another of his special poultices. ‘I missed you, Woong. I missed you so much that I thought my heart would never be whole again.’ He longs to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, but now that Hwanwoong is awake he is reticent. Three years is a long time, and Youngjo has no idea of the unimaginable horrors he may have faced. So he stays upright, just rests a gentle hand down on Hwanwoong’s bare shoulder, the side safe from his terrible bruising.

He doesn’t know if he expected Hwanwoong to say something profound in response, and he knows that it’s unfair to demand that of him, but he can’t help the stone that falls in his stomach when Hwanwoong just closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose.

Youngjo curses himself. Did he expect them to pick up where they left off three years ago?

Nothing will ever be the same.

Hwanwoong will never be the same.

~

_It was the late-night visits to the training grounds that brought Hwanwoong and Youngjo together. Every night, Youngjo snuck down to get in some extra practice. He never told anyone, but as the only son and the future king he was under a lot of pressure to be the best. If other knights beat him during sparring, then how could they possibly keep respect for the crown? It was Youngjo’s responsibility to lead the knights, and to lead he needed to be the best rider, the best at sword-craft, someone that the other teenagers and young men could look up to even then._

_When Hwanwoong arrived from the small ward out in the countryside, Youngjo’s secret became not so secret after all._

_He was there, too, the first night that Youngjo went down to practice. He was firing arrows by torchlight, because apart from straw dummies he had no one to practice swords with. At first, Youngjo had tried to duck away, embarrassed, but when Hwanwoong spotted him, he had no choice but to hang his head and confess._

_‘I have to practice,’ he said, ‘if I’m going to be the best.’_

_Hwanwoong stood up straight and lowered his bow. ‘I have to practice too, if I’m going to stop the other guys messing with me.’_

_Back then, the difference in their age was more exaggerated, because Youngjo had recently had a growth spurt and his shoulders were starting to fill out. Hwanwoong didn’t seem intimidated, though, by Youngjo’s seniority or his nobility. He was confident, even then, never afraid of anyone. ‘I suppose we can help each other, then,’ said Youngjo with a deep breath. ‘I’ll teach you everything I know, and you can teach me what you know too.’ It was a generous thing for a prince to say, not least to a younger, lower-born boy._

_Hwanwoong smiled, a smile that made him look like an angel. He really didn’t have a face for warfare._

_Within months, though, the young knight superseded Youngjo in his sword-craft._

_He superseded everyone._

_The boy that no one saw coming, except for Youngjo._

~

Hwanwoong is moved to a private chamber after two days. It is not his room from before, in the knights’ tower, because someone else has claimed that now. Instead, he is homed in a small room only a couple of corridors away from Youngjo’s grand quarters. He is up and walking, but under Dongheon’s instruction still spends most of his time in bed so as not to shift the bone at his clavicle any further. Despite his claim to Youngjo that he was not suffering, Dongheon has given him a draught to relieve pain, and he does take it.

It makes him drowsy.

‘I brought this for you,’ says Youngjo when Hwanwoong calls out that it is okay for him to enter his quarters.

He collected the tray from one of the servants out in the corridor, because Hwanwoong has refused to see anyone else apart from Youngjo and his fellow knights. Youngjo carries it with wobbling hands over to the bed, wondering how the servants manage to serve these every day without the slightest shake, and settles it down on the wooden table.

Hwanwoong is sat up in bed, dressed in fresh clean night clothes. The dressing is gone from his face, and Youngjo’s eyes are drawn to the deep cuts on his cheek, only just beginning to knit over after breaking free from the infection. Dongheon must have taken it off earlier today. The scars will be deep but straight, the cuts themselves quite clean. ‘It’s a pity,’ says Hwanwoong when he sees him looking, and Youngjo snaps his eyes back up. ‘I suppose they won’t call me the most beautiful knight in the kingdom anymore.’

They did always call him that.

‘You look plenty beautiful to me,’ says Youngjo, and he doesn’t mean it to sound so intimate but it seems to come out that way. ‘I just – I just mean you’re as beautiful as you were when you went away.’ He swallows. That sounds worse. Even more intimate. There’s truth in every word, though. As he takes in the details of Hwanwoong’s face all over again he thinks that the scars will make him more beautiful than ever. Battle scars.

Hwanwoong looks down. ‘The memories are coming back, now,’ he says, ignoring Youngjo’s words.

‘Eat and talk,’ says Youngjo, conscious that Hwanwoong needs to get his weight back up. He lifts the bowl of broth from the tray and holds it out for Hwanwoong to take. It’s easiest for him to stomach that kind of thing now, broth and rice; he hasn’t eaten meat or fish since getting home, warning that they’ll make him vomit.

Hwanwoong obliges. ‘I remember the forest. I remember seeing you, and Seoho and Geonhak but I didn’t recognise them so well. I was confused. I’d been in the woods for days.’

‘How did you get there?’ murmurs Youngjo.

‘I escaped,’ he says simply.

‘But how?’ Youngjo whispers. ‘Our woods are miles from Sun City. How did you break free from the citadel?’

Hwanwoong shakes his head. ‘I didn’t. I was being moved. I had been… badly beaten, I was not wholly conscious. I remember waking up, bound and gagged in a carriage. The carriage was moving. I could hear horses’ hooves.’

Youngjo leans close, having dragged the stool up close beside Hwanwoong’s bed. He can see the effort that the recollection is costing Hwanwoong, the way he scrunches his face as he searches his memories trying to grasp the events of that day. ‘Where were they taking you?’

‘I don’t know. I just remember twisting my wrists out of the cords and – and taking the throat of the guard in the carriage with me. When I was able to jump from the carriage I dived under the cover of the trees. I knew that if I kept heading west through the woods then I would reach the river, and west of there I would be in our territory. I knew they couldn’t come to catch me there. So I ran. I didn’t even have a weapon, Youngjo.’

He says his name softly, with no embellishment.

‘I was bleeding badly where I’d been hit with the sword hilt against my head while fighting the guard. I was dizzy from the beating before the journey. It was all I could do just to stay on my feet. I ran for a whole day and when the sun set I ran through the night.’

Sickness takes hold of Youngjo’s stomach again at the thought of Hwanwoong running through those woods alone, unarmed, in the pitch darkness as wild cats yowled and bears moved with a crackle of branches and leaves. The forest can be dangerous to a whole pack of hunters during the daylight. For Hwanwoong to have made it west of the river is nothing short of a miracle.

‘I was getting confused. I suppose my infection was starting to take hold. By the time I reached the river I was struggling to read the sky. I couldn’t even figure out which way was west. And then you were there and I felt like I was dreaming. I couldn’t believe that after days of running, I had run into _you_.’

‘Maybe I was destined to be in the woods that day,’ whispers Youngjo.

‘Maybe,’ he says.

‘Why did they cut your face like this?’ Youngjo asks, and he knows it’s the wrong thing to say but the words slip out uncontained.

In a second, Hwanwoong turns cold. The open part of him that shared the story of his escape snaps closed, and his eyes turn wary. He clangs his spoon against the side of his bowl and then lowers it down to the table, like he doesn’t want to eat anymore. Youngjo curses himself as Hwanwoong curls in on himself, quite literally, pulling up his blanket and turning half away. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Youngjo curses himself. What is he curious about? The trauma of three years held captive by their most vicious enemies, the brutal men of Helios? What curiosity could be so important that he ask Hwanwoong to relive even a second of it? _Enough_ , Youngjo tells himself, with a shake of his head. He never should have asked. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I didn’t mean to - ’

‘I think I’ll rest now,’ Hwanwoong cuts across him. It’s a request for Youngjo to leave.

Youngjo swallows and stands without argument. ‘Try to eat a little more if you can,’ he says in a strained voice, but Hwanwoong has closed off like the gates protecting the citadel at night. He doesn’t say anything when Youngjo lets himself out of the chamber and then crouches down in the corridor, running anxious hands through his hair.

He jumps when he sees Seoho approaching, perhaps having come to visit Hwanwoong too.

‘Sire,’ Seoho inclines his head.

Youngjo stands again, quick to compose himself. ‘Seoho,’ he nods.

‘How is he?’

His eyes flicker to the closed wooden door and then back to Seoho. ‘He’s… resting.’

‘Has he remembered anything?’

‘He told me how he ended up in the woods. He said that they were moving him somewhere in a carriage and he managed to free his hands from their bindings and took down the guard in the carriage with him. He escaped from there. He ran all the way west, Seoho, and you saw the state he was in. It’s a miracle that he made it.’

Seoho’s eyes narrow a little, and Youngjo raises his eyebrows.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ says Seoho, but it’s never nothing with Seoho. Ever since they were teenagers training together, Seoho has been the most suspicious of Youngjo’s friends, always spotting sedition in places where sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange, though? Hwanwoong didn’t have a weapon when we found him, but if he fought the guard in his carriage then why not take his sword? Hwanwoong is the best swordsman any of us have ever met. If someone had a weapon, then he would take it; he’s never comfortable without a sword in his hand.’

Youngjo frowns, confused at why Seoho would want to argue about Hwanwoong’s escape. ‘It would’ve been heavy, he was running.’

‘He doesn’t have any marks on his wrists, either, but he freed himself from his bonds?’

‘What are you _saying_?’ Youngjo snaps, unable to listen anymore.

‘It’s just _strange_ , Youngjo! He’s been gone three years. Our insiders told us he was dead. And now he shows up in the woods just when we’re out hunting?’

Youngjo grits his teeth. ‘Showed up, yes, beaten to within an inch of his life, drenched in blood. Whatever you’re insinuating, I don’t want to hear it. He’s your _brother_ , Seoho, one of us. We need to protect him, now. We have to make amends for abandoning him three years ago.’

A silence falls between them. ‘We couldn’t have known he was still alive, Youngjo,’ Seoho whispers eventually, and he can tell that he’s working hard to keep his voice steady. Seoho has never been afraid to stand up to Youngjo, but when the subject is Hwanwoong? That’s a little different. ‘I’m just worried, for him as well. What if they left him there on purpose? Hwanwoong has been feverish, confused, I’m sure his memories are jumbled. What if they wanted to lure us there, what if there’s some sort of plan and they’re using Hwanwoong as bait to get at you and - ’

They both turn when Keonhee appears, looking between them with an almost comically apprehensive expression as if he’s wondering what he just walked in on. ‘Are you two fighting?’

‘ _No_ ,’ they say in unison.

Keonhee gulps. He’s taller than both of them, but much more slender in build so he seems to take up less space. Ever since they trained together, he’s had an awkward kind of look about him, like he’s never one hundred percent sure how to arrange his long limbs. ‘You’re needed in the great hall, Sire. Your petitioners are waiting.’

 _Of course_. Youngjo curses internally. Usually, he does not mind the monthly petition hall. It is one of the duties that he has taken over for his father, and one of the ones that he takes pride in. The day is one in which he can hear the troubles of his people, from the townspeople to the peasants in the outlying villages. They come to ask for aid with solving disputes with their neighbours, for defence forces to protect them from encroaching warlords to the east of their territory, or for advice on rice prices. Being able to help is Youngjo’s biggest blessing as a prince.

‘Right, yes,’ he says, voice a little haggard from the argument. He’d forgotten about the petitioners altogether. For days his mind has looped only around Hwanwoong. With one more look at Seoho, he sighs. ‘I understand,’ he says, ‘I understand why you’re worried. But for a week, can’t I just be happy to have him back?’

~

_‘I’ve been called to war,’ said Hwanwoong, bursting through the door into Youngjo’s chambers unannounced. The tailor pinning Youngjo’s robe jumped and almost speared him with the small point, but Youngjo just turned with a sober expression, waving him away so that he could talk to Hwanwoong. He stepped down from his podium and nodded._

_‘Me too.’_

_In the year since they’d first met, he and Hwanwoong had become good friends. Their meetings on the training grounds became a nightly affair, and people had stopped hassling Hwanwoong once they realised that he was a friend of the crown prince. Youngjo found that despite their different backgrounds, Hwanwoong was easy to talk to. He was the son of a baronet, his father not noble by birth but granted his title after service in a long distant war. He seemed to understand Youngjo’s troubles better than the noblemen who he was surrounded by every day._

_Hwanwoong exhaled in relief. ‘My knight is taking me as his only squire.’_

_It wasn’t a surprise. Nearly every young knight was summoned to the front in the east. The new lord of those territories, who had named himself Helios, was making trouble again. He had assembled an army of followers as quickly as a cult, and was attempting to move westwards not for the first time._

_‘My father is sending me too,’ said Youngjo. It would be his first real war. Previously his tussles had been with nearby warlords, much less of a threat. This time, he felt sick at the thought. People were dying. As the prince, he would be expected to ride out at the very front of his men. For a moment, when Hwanwoong had burst into the room, he’d thought that they would share in their fear, but one look up into his blazing eyes tells him that Hwanwoong isn’t afraid._

_He’s excited._

_He’s still young, but not too young to send to war, and Youngjo knows that no matter how many years pass, Hwanwoong will be as thirsty for a fight as he was when he picked himself up from the dust during their first training session._

_Hwanwoong has always been fearless._

~

By a week later, Youngjo is used to the swings in Hwanwoong’s mood. One moment, he’s the Hwanwoong of before, light as a butterfly with a cheeky smirk and eager for gossip from around the palace. Now, he has three years of it to catch up on. He smiles, laughs with Geonhak and Dongju when they bring cards and tiles to play games with him in his bedchamber, and asks over and over when he can pick up a sword again. Moments later, though, he can turn. All it takes is an ill-placed remark, one loud noise that’s a little too sudden, and Hwanwoong’s light goes out like a flame snuffed out in the wind.

‘I’m fit enough,’ says Hwanwoong.

‘Your collarbone was broken.’

‘It’s not my sword arm!’ he protests.

‘And how will you wield a shield?’ Youngjo shakes his head. ‘No. You’re not ready. You need rest.’

Hwanwoong huffs, pacing his room. His arm is in a loose sling, but he clenches his fist over and over, something that cannot be good for the recovering bone. Dark hair falls over his forehead in a mess, and it makes Youngjo smile to think that he’ll need to cut it soon. Those kinds of little things remind him that this is all real, that Hwanwoong is really in front of him. Living and breathing. His Hwanwoong.

He reminds himself that after everything, he shouldn’t think of Hwanwoong that way anymore. Hwanwoong is one of his knights, wounded after a long, long battle. That should be his treatment of him now. His priority.

The room is too small, Youngjo thinks, knowing that Hwanwoong is spending his every waking moment pacing from wall to wall. There’s nothing personal here, because the knights never keep many personal effects. The only thing that Youngjo kept of Hwanwoong’s after he was taken were his clothes, so that he could curl up at night and inhale the scent of him, but they would be too big for him now, for a while at least until he puts back on the rest of his weight.

‘Do you want me to find you larger quarters?’ he asks.

Hwanwoong looks at him in surprise. ‘No, this is fine.’

Biting his lip, Youngjo nods. ‘Okay.’

‘Did you come to try and find me?’ says Hwanwoong, and the question is so out of nowhere that Youngjo almost chokes on his own throat.

‘I – we –’ The guilt returns, the guilt that Seoho told him to let go of. He can’t lie to him. ‘They told us you were dead, Woong.’ The pet-name slips out, and he wishes it didn’t.

‘Who’s _they_?’

‘Our spies in Sun City. Everyone told us you were dead. If I’d thought there was even a chance you were alive then I’d have burned the city to the ground. I wanted to anyway,’ he adds. ‘But my closest knight? I believed that they’d killed you, I couldn’t think what else they would want with you. The informers told us that they – that they tortured you for information and that they killed you when you gave them nothing.’

Hwanwoong lets out a low snort of bitter laughter and shakes his head. ‘Well they got one part right.’

The images that kept Youngjo awake at night that whole first year flood back into his mind again, and he can’t blink them away. _Hwanwoong bleeding. Hwanwoong crying. Hwanwoong screaming._

‘I never told them anything,’ adds Hwanwoong.

A silence falls, because there’s nothing, not one thing that Youngjo can say to that. Hwanwoong has never wanted comforting, either as a fifteen-year-old knocked down in the courtyard, or as a man returning from war. He hates that kind of thing. It is Hwanwoong who breaks the silence, as it often was back then. He was always the talker of the two of them.

‘I don’t get it. I don’t get why your informers would tell you I was dead.’

It’s a thought that’s been crawling at the back of Youngjo’s brain for days. He can’t shift it. The presence of it in his mind makes him feel like Seoho. ‘I don’t know. Maybe people in the fortress spread lies that you were killed.’

Hwanwoong shakes his head. ‘No. You don’t understand. Helios made it clear to everyone who wanted to know that I was his prisoner. One of the prince’s five knights? He – he sat me at his _feet_ at his banquets, Youngjo.’

Mind clouded for a second by rage, Youngjo clenches his fists until his knuckles turn bright white. ‘I’m going to kill him myself, Hwanwoong. I promise you. Or better yet, I’ll bring him to you so that you can kill him.’

Hwanwoong waves this away like it’s not important now. ‘There was no way that they wouldn’t have known I was alive. It makes no sense.’

Anxiety itches at Youngjo’s skin. If their spies in Sun City cannot be trusted, then that means that all of their recent information cannot be trusted either. Details of Helios’ movements… his plans… ‘I have to speak to my father,’ he says, for the first time in a long time.

Since his father stepped away from the public eye and became bound to his bed forever, Youngjo has tried not to bother him with affairs of the kingdom. If he can live out his remaining weeks in relative peace, then that is his reward for a lifetime of service. Not only that, but Youngjo’s thirst to prove himself as the future leader of his kingdom makes it difficult to go running to his father for help at the slightest hitch. This, though? It could threaten everything.

He turns to leave, but then Hwanwoong speaks, and he freezes dead to the spot.

‘Every night, every night for those three years, the only thing that kept me alive was thinking that you were coming to rescue me. You and Seoho and Geonhak and Keonhee and Dongju. Even after all that time, I thought you were planning. I thought you were coming.’

Youngjo closes his eyes. ‘Woong - ’

‘If I’d known that you weren’t, then I don’t – I don’t even know - ’ Hwanwoong stops, and the candle goes out again. He turns away with dead eyes, face flattening into an unreadable expression.

Youngjo has a choice to make, and he chooses the cowardly option.

He leaves.

The palace is a maze of corridors, dead-ends, doors that look like they lead to rooms but instead enter into more corridors. For most, the labyrinth is unnavigable, but Youngjo has known these halls since his birth. He moves with purpose, up two flights of stairs and down three corridors. The carpets are purple, pinned down to the stone floor with gold weights, and the tapestries turn more illustrious the further that he goes. His father’s chambers are in the very depths of the maze, protected by guards through the day and night.

They all bow to Youngjo as he passes.

One at the door announces his presence before he is permitted to enter.

His father’s quarters are vast and familiar, but even with the unsheltered slits in the wall inviting air into the room, there is a scent of impending death on the air. His father is not that old, but his body was caught by disease before warfare could ever get to him. One of Dongheon’s apprentices, the younger of the two, is in the room, preparing a poultice at a moving table.

‘Father,’ Youngjo bows as he approaches his bed.

His mother is in the room too, dressed in white robes that remind Youngjo of funerals. The scene is unsettling, but he tries not to think on it, not when there are such important matters at hand. His father is sat up in his bed, regal cap still in place, dressed in purple and silver finery even though there is no one to see him. There is a greyish tinge to his face, and his skin clings to his bones like a skeleton, but there is still a hint of nobility about him.

‘Go,’ his father dismisses both Kangmin and his wife with a wave of his hand, and Youngjo bows again, lower this time in utmost respect.

‘Father, I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to turn. I need your counsel.’

The king sits up straighter with an inkling of a smile. ‘How is the knight?’ he asks.

Youngjo is surprised. Even when rumours of their relationship spread across the palace years ago, his father never acknowledged Hwanwoong’s existence beyond vague mention of him as a loyal knight and a strong swordsman. ‘Recovering,’ says Youngjo, not eager to share anything more about him. ‘That is part of the reason why I wished to speak with you.’

‘Speak.’

‘Our spies… our informants in Sun City - ’

The king frowns, shifting a little in his position.

Youngjo takes a deep breath. ‘The information from our spies was that Sir Hwanwoong was killed, when they took him.’

‘Yes,’ says his father with a tilt of his head.

‘I don’t understand where the information came from, when Hwanwoong was alive. I – I fear that our spies have been compromised. All of our intel could be false. And with the upcoming attack planned, what if – what if we’ve been lied to?’

The king, to his astonishment, does not look all that shocked, does not even look concerned. Instead, he takes a ceramic cup of liquor and drinks it slowly, painstakingly slowly. ‘Our informants are reliable,’ he says after a moment.

‘But - ’ Youngjo starts. Is his father not listening to him? ‘Father, they said over and over that Hwanwoong was dead. Hwanwoong says that he was _paraded_ in Sun City. I’m going to call off the attack. We need to scrap our plans. We can’t trust them.’

‘Do _not_ call off the attack,’ snaps the king.

‘Father – _father -_ ’ he implores him. ‘Do you hear what I am saying to you?’

‘I am telling you, _son_ , that our informants are trustworthy. We will go ahead with the strike.’

Youngjo straightens up. He has never even thought to try to overrule his father, but it’s like the old king is refusing to understand him. ‘I won’t send my men to die. The spies lied. I don’t know why, but they lied.’

‘They did not lie,’ his father says with a flat, steely expression.

Youngjo’s brow furrows. ‘I don’t - ’

‘Our intelligence from Sun City was that your knight was captive in the Lightless Dungeon. It was I who spread the information that he was killed. For the good of the kingdom.’

Youngjo feels it like a slap in the face. It takes a moment for the words to fully figure themselves out in his brain, and then the sharp sting of an impact that never lands spreads across his skin. ‘You knew,’ he says. His voice sounds hoarse as it did when he found Hwanwoong in the forest that day. His skin turns red hot with fury, burning more violently than it ever has in combat. Inside, though, he feels emptier than ever.

‘What was I to do, Youngjo? Watch you, my only son, race off to Sun City on a suicide mission to save this boy?’

‘ _Man_ ,’ Youngjo corrects, because he doesn’t like to hear his father talk about Hwanwoong like that. He’s shaking, hands trembling at his sides and he thinks that if he had his sword with him, he would reach for it from instinct. ‘It is in the knights’ code. We never leave one of our men to die. If the rest of us are killed then so be it. You betrayed the creed of our forefathers.’

The king swings one leg out of bed, but then freezes, coughing up blood into a white cloth. Youngjo does nothing to help. ‘You know nothing of what it takes to be a king, Youngjo. It is our responsibility to make those choices, break those codes when needed, for the future of our kingdom. You would have gone to him.’

‘Yes, I would have,’ he says, taking a step back. Blood rushes in his ears. Three years of ignorance crash over him like a wave at the coasts he visited as a child. ‘You left him there. One of my own order, my best friend, my – my - ’ he cannot finish. ‘You let them torture him. You left him there to die.’

‘It was for the greater good. You would’ve been killed. Son - ’

Youngjo takes another step away and shakes his head. ‘Don’t ever call yourself my father again.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all <3 It’s me! Thank you so much for the response on the first chapter I could not believe how many people read the work, I really didn’t expect it to do so well and for so many people to like it T.T thank you to everyone who commented and let me know what you thought about the characters and the story, the conversations we had were just awesome x

_War was ugly, and somehow Hwanwoong suited it like it was made for him. He rode out each day on a black stallion alongside his knight, and behind his armour and the beautifully controlled sword in his right hand no one would guess that he was still so young. His face was fierce, less angelic when it was spattered with the blood of the enemy, and triumph lit his eyes bright with a fire. He loved it._

_For Youngjo, it was harder. He went through the motions, he led his men every day, but at night he dreamed of home, of days on the training grounds with his friends, of his own bed. Seoho and Geonhak were here too, both trying to show their best in the hopes of being granted a knighthood once they returned home. They took bigger risks, danced with danger like an old lover, while Youngjo focussed on staying alive._

_It was a day of rain when he was wounded, six months into their time on the front. He’d been thrown from his horse minutes earlier, but survived the fall uninjured. The torrential rain soaked the battleground until the soldiers sunk calf deep in the mud. Youngjo’s sword slipped in his hand, and the shouts of the knights could barely be heard over the claps of thunder high in the sky. He called out, hoarse for assistance, but his words were lost in the heavy air._

_A sword swung near his throat and he took one sinking step backwards. It was impossible to move at pace. He parried the blow and raised his shield, but a second soldier approached his left side with a bellow of accomplishment. The sword sliced a deep cut down Youngjo’s shield arm, straight through to the muscle, and he lost control of the weight._

_He cried out, but that sound was lost too._

I’m going to die here _, he thought, and he turned to raise his sword, left arm limp at his side. His own blood mingled scarlet with the rain and dripped onto the saturated mud, where it could not be distinguished from the blood of others. He did not bleed blue, nor purple, but dark red like the lowest born soldiers on the battlefield. A grunt of pain escaped his throat but it was swallowed by a groan of exertion._

_The soldier’s sword clanged against his and he was knocked back, feet sticking in the ground. Off balance, he fell, sodden mud splattering across his face, and he looked away, unwilling to watch his own death._

_Then, there was a crash of hooves and the soldier was run down with a sickening crunch of crushed bone. A sword swung by, cutting down the first man who had attacked Youngjo, and an arm reached down for him._

_‘Sire!’ shouted Hwanwoong, over the roar of battle. Water dripped down his young face, twisted in war, and he leant down for Youngjo to take his arm._

_Youngjo sheathed his sword, took Hwanwoong’s forearm with his one good hand, and hauled himself up onto the back of the black steed. He wrapped an arm around Hwanwoong’s waist, barely keeping hold as the horse reared and Hwanwoong turned it away, back towards their camp._

_It was there that Youngjo told him that one day he would be knighted. For saving the prince’s life, he would be knighted. ‘You’re too young now,’ he told him, for Hwanwoong was still only just turned seventeen, ‘but I won’t forget. My father will have you knighted for this.’_

_He knew inside, though, that Hwanwoong had not saved him merely for the promise of a knighthood._

~

‘He’s sleeping,’ says Dongju, when Youngjo approaches Hwanwoong’s quarters and finds the youngest of his knights sat outside the door, sharpening his sword blade. ‘I brought him some stew and he ate it all. He’s looking really good, don’t you think?’

Youngjo nods with a smile. Dongju knew Hwanwoong for the least time amongst them, but he admired him from the moment he first started training. Becoming friends with the crown prince was apparently less worthy of gloating than the fact that he was learning from the best young swordsman in the land. Because Hwanwoong garnered that reputation quickly. People said that he could cut a grain of rice in half with one slash of his sword if it was thrown his way, even if his back was turned.

Dongju is right. These last few days, Hwanwoong has been looking more and more like himself. The cuts on his face will never fade, but his smaller wounds have healed over and his bruising is a mere shadow. Youngjo knows that he’s started exercising in his chamber, even if he is supposed to be resting his collarbone, because there’s muscle tone returning to his shoulders and Youngjo sees a hint of the stocky knight he once knew when he glances his way sometimes now.

‘He is,’ says Youngjo. ‘Soon, the six of us will be back fighting again.’

He knows that that will make Dongju smile. He was knighted not long before Hwanwoong was taken – that battle was the only time that the six of them stood side by side as knights on the battlefield. Sure enough, a sweet smile, slightly lopsided, takes over Dongju’s features, but then it falters.

There is shouting coming from Hwanwoong’s quarters.

Youngjo whips around. He is not carrying his sword but he can take the long dagger from his belt. Dongju grabs his wrist before he can move. ‘It’s okay,’ he says, ‘he’s been yelling a lot. I think it’s nightmares.’

The sound becomes clearer in Youngjo’s mind. Hwanwoong is in distress, the sound more drawn than what he ever heard from him on the battlefield, but there is no enemy there. Still, it activates the defence mechanism in Youngjo’s brain in a second and he shakes off Dongju’s grip, pushing open the door. He won’t leave Hwanwoong to suffer alone.

‘Hwanwoong – _Hwanwoong -_ ’ he crosses to the bed and stands back for a second.

Hwanwoong is writhing, neck taut with tension and teeth bared as he clenches them so tightly that he threatens to break his own jaw. His arms are caught in the tangle of sheets, and sweat beads on his forehead as he twists. ‘Woong!’ Youngjo shakes his good shoulder, once gently and once harder when Hwanwoong does not wake.

It happens in a flash.

Hwanwoong’s eyes fly open and he launches himself towards Youngjo, grabbing him by the collar when he frees his hands. He drags him down, Youngjo caught completely off guard, and throws him across the bed. Youngjo’s head hits the corner of the walls, and he finally finds the sense to grab at Hwanwoong’s hands to try to stop him, but Hwanwoong has always been agile and his strength is returning too. He straddles over Youngjo, eyes wild and dark, and pins him down with his knees.

One hand goes to Youngjo’s throat, his nails digging into the skin.

‘Woong – it’s me – it’s Youngjo - ’ he chokes, suddenly very, very aware that it is hard to breathe. He takes hold of Hwanwoong’s wrist, trying desperately to drag his hands away, but the motion seems to make Hwanwoong tighten his grip, fingers pressing up beneath Youngjo’s jaw over his pulse, and the palm of his hand compressing his windpipe.

Sparks splatter over the dark spots in Youngjo’s vision as he struggles for air, and then in a second Hwanwoong’s hand is gone.

Youngjo rolls onto his side, spluttering as Dongju hauls Hwanwoong back. His eyes almost roll back as he sucks in air to his deprived lungs, panic abating only for a moment before he realises that Dongju needs his help. He crawls from the bed and takes one of Hwanwoong’s arms, twisting it behind his back. Guilt bites at him when Hwanwoong cries out in pain – it is his injured side – but the thought at the forefront of his mind is this:

Hwanwoong is the best fighter that Youngjo has ever met. He and Dongju could barely hold him at the best of times, but when Hwanwoong is crazed like this and the two of them are afraid to hurt him?

‘It’s okay,’ he hisses against Hwanwoong’s ear as he holds him tight. ‘It’s me. It’s Youngjo. You’re here at home.’

As quickly as the light cuts off in Hwanwoong’s eyes sometimes, it flickers back into life, and he turns limp, breath coming in ragged gasps. ‘Youngjo – ah!’ he whimpers when his shoulder shifts.

Youngjo loosens his grip just a little, unable to bear hurting him. ‘You’re safe. It’s me and Dongju.’

After a moment, Dongju releases Hwanwoong’s other side, but his eyes are still wary. Youngjo lowers Hwanwoong’s arm back down to his side and walks him over to the bed. All of them are breathing heavily, Youngjo the heaviest of all. His throat is red with the marks from Hwanwoong’s fingers and he knows that it will form a furious bruise. Swallowing hurts, and it’s difficult when he’s gulping on air still.

‘What did I do?’ whispers Hwanwoong, eyes looking from one to the other in a panic.

‘You attacked Youngjo-hyung!’ Dongju cuts in, with the lack of sensitivity that he’s famous for.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ says Youngjo. He touches Hwanwoong’s hot forehead with the back of his fingers. ‘I woke you when you were dreaming. I shouldn’t have. I think – I think you were still in that place. Like you were awake but your mind thought you were still asleep, still – still there.’

‘I’m _sorry_ ,’ says Hwanwoong in horror as his eyes find the raw marks at his throat. ‘Youngjo - ’

‘It’s okay,’ he shakes his head. His throat stings, and it hurts to talk, too. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine. Dongju, why don’t you go and get some fresh water? And I’ll go to Dongheon to ask him for a strong sleeping draught, one that will stop the nightmares,’ he adds, this time to Hwanwoong, who nods, anxiety written all over his face. It’s an excuse more than anything to get out of the room, because Youngjo is distraught and he doesn’t want Hwanwoong to see it.

Outside, he runs a rough hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what happened.

‘He’s – he’s dangerous,’ says Dongju, fear on his face. ‘What are we going to do?’

Youngjo closes his eyes. He should have known. He _said_ it, told himself when he first found Hwanwoong that he was not going to be the same man that he lost three years ago. How could he be? ‘Don’t come here alone when he sleeps, anymore,’ he says, voice ragged, ‘bring one of the others with you. He could overpower you easily. And I _am_ going to go to Dongheon to ask for help. He’ll have something Hwanwoong can take, he always has something.’

When Dongju turns to dart away, Youngjo chases after him and catches his arm.

‘And don’t tell anyone else what happened,’ he whispers, ‘only our brothers. I can’t risk – I don’t know what people will want to do if they find out he’s… that he could be like this.’

Dongju nods and disappears down the corridor, and Youngjo can’t help but think they he seems relieved to put as much distance between himself and Hwanwoong as possible. Youngjo understands. It can’t have been easy for Dongju to see the man he idolised like that. It wasn’t easy for Youngjo to see the man he _loved_ like that. A shaky breath trembles past his lips.

A strange urge hits him, and it’s an urge that a prince can never give in to.

The urge to cry.

He rubs at his eyes and inhales sharply.

Dongheon. He must go to Dongheon.

~

_Hwanwoong returned from the war two months after Youngjo, swathed in a cloak of glory. Youngjo had heard talk of his exploits, the way that he defended his knight on the battlefield, the way that he rode into the fray even when they were outnumbered ten to one, and even stories of how he was surrounded by twenty enemy soldiers and managed to fight his way out through all of them. The stories made Youngjo smile; whether they were true or not, he could believe them._

_No one would ever laugh at Hwanwoong again._

_Youngjo’s own arm was recovering, though his father was frustrated that it had brought an unseemly end to his first real combat. The wound would scar, but Youngjo could already hold a shield again. He raced down to the great hall to meet Hwanwoong upon his return, the fanfare of his knight’s homecoming ringing through the castle._

_Sure enough, there stood Hwanwoong, two steps behind his knight, head bowed in respect of the king._

_He looked older, brawnier, but cleaned up from the mess of battle he was beautiful once again. Youngjo thought he had noble features, even though his birth was not as such. His brow was strong, hair pushed back, and every detail was prominent as if inherited. When Youngjo entered the room and the attendees bowed, Hwanwoong looked up and met his eyes with a small, cheeky smile before inclining his head._

_They walked together an hour later, through the courtyard._

_‘My knight has told me that I can stay here when he returns to the ward,’ said Hwanwoong. ‘He has his choice of squires, and he says that the best thing for me now is to train here with you and the king’s knights and the other men my age until I’m old enough to be granted my knighthood.’_

_Youngjo’s heart leapt at the thought of his friend remaining here with him, and he hoped it didn’t betray quite so much on his face how excited he was. ‘That’s great,’ he said, trying to sound positive but appropriately neutral._

_‘How is your arm?’ asked Hwanwoong._

_‘Still attached, thanks to you,’ laughed Youngjo. ‘It’s healed well.’_

_Hwanwoong nudged his shoulder with his own as they walked, smiling too. ‘A part of me is happy to be back,’ he said, ‘but a part of me can’t wait until I’m called up again. Do you know what I mean?’_

_‘Sure,’ nodded Youngjo, even though he didn’t._

_He did not share Hwanwoong’s passion for the battlefield._

~

There is something familiar and comforting about walking with Hwanwoong. It’s good just to see him out of his quarters, even if they are only strolling the halls of the palace. As they walk, people bow to them, to both of them, because word of Hwanwoong’s heroic escape from Sun City has spread amongst the servants and nobles alike. They wander down to the kitchens to sneak out some food, as they once did as youths. It feels light, like a buoyant cloud in Youngjo’s chest.

‘You should come with me into town,’ says Youngjo, ‘I want to take you to the bladesmith. He’ll forge you a new sword, designed just for you.’

‘I miss my old sword,’ muses Hwanwoong. ‘I suppose I’ll never have that back again.’

‘Maybe we’ll find it when we take down Sun City,’ says Youngjo, and then he adds quickly, ‘one day.’ He hasn’t told Hwanwoong about their plan to attack Sun City when the season turns to autumn. Hwanwoong is only just starting to come out of his shell, starting to speak to people outside of their brotherhood again; he doesn’t need to hear about that before he even has a sword back in his hand.

They eat sweet snacks on little wooden sticks as they walk. The treats make Hwanwoong smile. ‘I never had anything like this while I was there,’ he says, a rare mention of his time in Sun City, ‘you forget what this kind of thing tastes like after a while.’

Something low in Youngjo’s abdomen flips over, and he wonders if Hwanwoong is offering this up as an opening into a conversation. They rarely discuss those three years. ‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring you back,’ he whispers.

Hwanwoong looks up in surprise. ‘You don’t have to apologise again. I knew what I was enlisting myself for.’

‘Taking a knighthood means taking the chance of a glorious death in battle. Not three years of… that,’ says Youngjo.

Hwanwoong shrugs. ‘The dungeons were not so bad; in the summer they were cool, and you should feel the searing heat of Sun City at the height of the season.’ He gives a small laugh as he brushes his fingertips over the cuts on his face. They’ve faded to a dark but dull red now. One day they’ll turn grey, and then white. ‘The only time I left my cell that first year was to be paraded by Helios.’

This is the most that Hwanwoong has talked about his imprisonment. Youngjo doesn’t know what to say, scared to voice the wrong thing that will make him close off again.

‘That year was the most brutal. You don’t need me to tell you that Helios is a sadistic man.’

Youngjo’s stomach twists.

‘But they kept me alive,’ Hwanwoong shrugs. ‘I think they thought you’d come to rescue me, so I was more use to them alive than dead.’

At that, the knot becomes tighter and a moment of self-hatred spills over Youngjo’s very being.

‘After that first year, I think they realised that maybe you weren’t coming. There were moments when they treated me well, they tried to turn me. They told me once that they’d let me go, let me come back home if I became their man on the inside.’

‘Then they didn’t know you at all,’ says Youngjo.

Hwanwoong looks down with a small smile and continues. ‘They still had their fun, of course. But they were stupid. I didn’t fear them.’

‘You’ve always been the most fearless person I’ve ever met.’

‘They never understood that there’s a limit to pain – once they threw everything they had at me, I had nothing left to be afraid of. There’s only so much you can take from someone, only so much pain you can inflict. When they showed their hand so early, they lost their power over me. All I had left was hope.’

‘Are you ready?’ Youngjo asks. ‘To fight again?’

Hwanwoong flexes his arms and leans out of over the balcony of the covered walkway that takes them from the palace to the courtyard. Down below, people are training, as they had once done as teenagers. Dressed in the pale blue robes of the court, Hwanwoong looks smaller than in the leathers and armour Youngjo used to know him in. The sleeves fall down over his hands. ‘My strength is returning. Find me a sword and I will wield it.’

‘Soon,’ says Youngjo.

It is later, in the chambers where Youngjo meets the ambassadors who visit, that Seoho learns of Youngjo’s plans. The room is small but well-dressed in the purple tapestries of the Kim dynasty. A wooden desk is laid out where Youngjo’s scribe writes his letters, to be sent to the far-flung corners of the land or even across the seas. The scribe, Haechi, is young, but his calligraphy is second-to-none. He had no home when Youngjo found him, but his story of learning to write on the streets just to stay alive was enough for Youngjo to bring him here into the palace.

‘Forgive us,’ says Youngjo, when Seoho appears in the archway to the chamber.

Haechi looks up and bows dutifully, before collecting his papers and ducking out of the room.

Seoho slips into the chamber. His sword is at his belt, the ochre glow of amber radiating from the hilt. The torches on the walls glance off it with firelight. ‘Hwanwoong told me that you’re taking him to the swordsmith,’ he says.

‘I am.’

Seoho leans against the stone wall. ‘Do you think that it’s the right time?’

At this, Youngjo sighs. ‘When would the right time be?’

‘He attacked you and Dongju. I love Hwanwoong, hyung, but you need to… let him heal. Putting a sword back in his hand? Is it the right thing for him?’

‘You said it yourself,’ says Youngjo, irritation rising a red rash up his neck. ‘You told me that Hwanwoong is never comfortable without a sword at his side. I can’t think of anything better for him than getting back to normal, getting back on the field with us. The problem is when he’s sleeping, not when he’s awake.’

‘Sire,’ starts Seoho, switching to a more formal address and Youngjo knows that it means he’s not going to like what he’ll hear. ‘I think that you need to - ’

‘Need to what?’

‘Need to admit to yourself that Hwanwoong has changed. He’s not going to be the knight he was when they took him. Not for a long time, at least.’

‘What would you have me do, Seoho?’ he asks, not chastising his insolence in the face of the prince. He has always allowed his knights to speak their minds. ‘Tell him to stay in his room? Take up needlecraft? He’s a _knight_. His place is on the battlefield. He’d lose his mind locked away inside. He’s not _broken,_ Seoho. Think about it. The six of us. Back together, fighting our way to Sun City.’

‘So that’s what this is all about? Revenge?’

‘That’s exactly what it’s about,’ he says.

The day that Hwanwoong was captured was the day that Youngjo found his thirst for battle, for bloodshed. What was once another man’s game became his. He threw himself into warfare like he lived for it, and like he’d die for it without hesitation. The thought that he’d be reunited with Hwanwoong if he did was at his mind during every battle. Now that Hwanwoong is back, the urgent need for the fight has not faded. This time, it is vengeance that turns his blood red hot with desire.

~

_They met by firelight and moonlight. Torches flanked the two long walls of the hall while the moon sent soft white rays through the open arches at either end, giving the hall an otherworldly glow. It seemed fitting for the nature of their meeting. There was nothing secretive or clandestine about the subject and yet they felt as if they were making some kind of blood pact._

_Keonhee and Seoho were cross-legged on the floor, arms linked as they shared two cups of liquor. Geonhak sat up on the steps below the throne, talking to his young squire Dongju who was polishing his sword. On his father’s throne, Youngjo sat with both legs thrown over the arm, enjoying spiced liquor from his own ceramic cup. Beside him, Hwanwoong paced. He’d never been able to keep still._

_‘We should say it, here and now,’ said Geonhak._

_‘There are no witnesses,’ laughed Seoho, draining his cup._

_‘The moon is our witness,’ smiled Geonhak. He turned to his friends each in turn. In the year since they had all gradually returned from the war in the east, they had grown closer. Everyone else in the camp of young knights talked about them, the crown prince’s chosen inner circle. ‘One day, once Hwanwoongie comes of age and receives his knighthood, the five of us will fight side by side. Knights of the crown.’_

_Hwanwoong rolled his eyes at the diminutive attached to his name, but he was half-smiling. ‘When Youngjo becomes king, the four of us will be the king’s knights.’_

_‘Five of us!’ piped up Dongju, and they all turned to look at him._

_Geonhak laughed at the young squire, but it wasn’t unkind. ‘Are you going to be a knight one day, Dongju?’_

_‘Yes,’ Dongju tilted his chin up with all the characteristic defiance that only a sixteen-year-old could carry._

_Youngjo raised his liquor cup. ‘To the_ six _of us, then. I swear it on the moon. We will fight together.’_

~

Youngjo’s quarters comprise an expansive bed and a room plush with silken gifts from their allies. The polished floors give way to intricately patterned rugs, fringed with gold, and even the desk is imported wood. Two wardrobes contain his ceremonial clothing for court, and his basic armour and mail for down on the training grounds with his knights. A candle flickers on his desk as he reads documentation from the outer villages. They will have troubles this winter, as the grain surpluses are not as high as the previous year.

There is a tap on the door, and Youngjo looks up in surprise. No one would usually visit this late in the night, and if they did the guards would send them away.

‘Yes?’ he stands, hoping that there is nothing important to report to him because he is wearing his night clothes and silk slippers already. To his relief, when the door opens, it is Hwanwoong.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Hwanwoong, ‘I know it’s late.’

‘It’s okay,’ he answers quickly, gesturing for him to enter. The door closes with a click and Hwanwoong looks around.

‘It’s been a long time since I was last here,’ says Hwanwoong with a soft laugh.

The words send butterflies into Youngjo’s navel. He is sure that Hwanwoong is not being literal, that he is simply referring to a time when he used to come and go freely from his chambers, not the very last time that he was here, when they woke up held in each other’s arms, naked skin pressed together. ‘I’m sure not much has changed,’ he says breathlessly.

‘I don’t know,’ shrugs Hwanwoong, ‘I think you’ve changed. You look older. When did your father grow sick?’

‘The last few months,’ says Youngjo.

Without invitation, Hwanwoong sits down on the end of his bed.

‘I think I changed before then, though. Once you were gone I found a taste for warfare, _your_ taste. And I took to my duty like never before. No more liquor and laughter. Ask Keonhee, he’ll tell you what I turned into. Becoming a king in all but name is just the final step.’

Hwanwoong frowns. ‘You never used to like war.’

With a sigh, Youngjo crosses to the bed and sits down beside Hwanwoong. He keeps a foot of distance between them, and perches on the very end as if this is the best way not to intrude on his space. He rests his elbows down on his knees and leans his chin onto his hands, staring straight ahead at the blank wall. ‘Once you were gone, I lost my fear. I lost what I was desperate to stay alive for. I finally understood why you loved war so much. You’re fearless. And when you don’t fear death, the battle becomes a thrill. I get it, now.’

Hwanwoong bites his lip and plays with his hands in his lap. It’s the only one of his movements that betrays a vulnerability. ‘You’re right. I never feared death. But that didn’t mean I had nothing I wanted to stay alive for. It just meant that there were things I would be happy to die for.’

The intimacy creeps in like mist settles over the forest, quiet but persistent. They have kept it at bay in the weeks since Youngjo found Hwanwoong bleeding in the woods, but there are things that cannot be suppressed forever. The past cannot be unwritten, and it reads aloud into the silence around them. ‘Why did you come here tonight?’ whispers Youngjo.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Why not?’ says Youngjo as if that is a question easy to answer.

‘I’m afraid to,’ responds Hwanwoong without hesitation. ‘Not so fearless after all.’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘What’s in my own head. Ever since I hurt you and Dongju…’

Youngjo frowns. The marks on his throat have long faded. ‘But the draught that Dongheon gave you has been working well?’

‘I can’t take it forever. It makes me lethargic, and I can’t be that way once I’m fighting with the order again.’

In spite of himself, Youngjo sits back a little and turns to face Hwanwoong properly. He lifts his hand and brushes his fingertips down the paling scars beginning to form on his cheek. They are as long as Youngjo’s fingers, brutal cuts inflicted for a purpose that he both needs to know and never wants to. ‘Hwanwoong… you healing is more important than you fighting. If you’re not ready to take up the sword then - ’

Hwanwoong tilts his cheek into the cup of Youngjo’s palm, and his words are lost.

His skin is warm, a warmth that Youngjo recognises as Hwanwoong’s and Hwanwoong’s only. They have drawn nearer, and Youngjo does not know when their faces came so close together, but he won’t fight the natural draw of his body. Hwanwoong looks up, sparkling wide eyes meeting his and then he moves again and his lips press to Youngjo’s.

The contact is soft, barely there.

Youngjo lifts his other hand to Hwanwoong’s face, holding it gently like it is the whole fragile world. Kissing Hwanwoong is a memory so distant that he buried it deep inside him, because the pain of recollecting it was too much. Now, though, the emotions of all those years ago catch a grasp on his chest and he pushes back to Hwanwoong’s lips. They part for him, a slip of breath between them, and Hwanwoong lets out a soft sigh like he needs this, and that is what makes Youngjo draw away.

Their foreheads brush together as Youngjo takes Hwanwoong’s hands into his own and looks down at the way their fingers intertwine. ‘You need to get better first,’ he says, even though it costs him everything.

‘Don’t you want me anymore?’ whispers Hwanwoong, and it cleaves a wound down Youngjo’s chest more pitiless than any sword.

‘More than anything,’ he says in a hollow voice. ‘But I also want you to heal.’

Hwanwoong pulls away from him, and Youngjo thinks that this will be the moment when the light goes out again, but Hwanwoong doesn’t leave. ‘Can I sleep here tonight?’ he asks. His voice is quite steady.

‘Of course,’ he exhales, even though he knows that it might not be the best answer. But how can he refuse? It could be dangerous, being here with him, especially if Hwanwoong has not taken his sleeping draught, but Youngjo knows that when he asks to sleep here, he is not talking about the place. He’s talking about Youngjo. He’s talking about sleeping by his side. Whatever the risk, Youngjo will not deny him that.

He slides back on the bed and Hwanwoong follows, curling into his side. As Youngjo wraps an arm around him, he is reminded once again how small Hwanwoong can be. Knowing that he will not sleep, he fills his mind with the feeling of him, the weight against his side, the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, and takes care to memorise it all.

He never tried hard enough, before.

The memories all ended up hazy.

It’s a sunny morning when Youngjo goes to look for Hwanwoong in the courtyard. The last three nights, Hwanwoong has slept in his bed, and last night was the first time that Youngjo slept properly too. He expected to wake up with Hwanwoong nestled into his side again, but instead the bed was cold.

He walks through the castle, peering around every alcove for Hwanwoong. Geonhak said that he saw him somewhere near the training grounds, so he is headed there, but he keeps an eye inside too. The season is starting to change, a slight breeze travelling through the castle that indicates an oncoming autumn. That means one thing for Youngjo: the set date of their siege on Sun City is growing ever closer. Nervous excitement buzzes in his fingertips at the thought. The bladesmith will be delivering Hwanwoong’s new sword any day now, and together they’ll restore justice to the present, that which was snatched from them in the past.

It’s too early for much bustle near the training grounds, the knights and guards still sleeping off the night before, but there are a few people around. None of them are Hwanwoong. Youngjo sighs and looks around with narrowed eyes. The ground is tan and dusty, struck with straw dummies on wooden poles, laid out too with a collection of archery targets. Racks of spears and blunt training swords are kept in tidy order by the squires.

Youngjo looks over to the armoury and has a wave of inspiration.

Around the back of the circular building is a small alcove, where he and Hwanwoong used to sneak sometimes to hide away together from the world. Perhaps he would go there. A fleeting moment of thrill hits Youngjo when he thinks that maybe Hwanwoong has hidden in the _hopes_ that Youngjo would come to find him there.

He crosses behind the building, close to the stone wall of the palace fortifications, and then freezes.

Hwanwoong is there, but so is someone else.

He flattens himself against the wall in the shadows, heart rate spiking.

The second figure is wearing a hood, drawn low over his face, and it is clear to Youngjo that this is no tryst. He does not know if that makes his fear better or worse.

They stand close together, Hwanwoong reaching out one hand to take something that the unrecognisable figure passes him. He’s small, an inch or so taller than Hwanwoong but much more slender even under his hooded robe. What he holds out to him, Youngjo cannot see. It is wrapped in black velvet, a little longer than Hwanwoong’s hand, but in a second Hwanwoong slips it into the folds of his own silk jacket and it is gone. Words are exchanged, but in the softest whisper, and Youngjo cannot make it out. Hwanwoong bows his head, and murmurs something that could be a farewell.

In a moment of panic, Youngjo realises that if the two part, one of them at least will head his way.

With a shaky breath he slips out from behind the tower and jogs back to the training ground. One glance at the armoury shows him that it is the only place that he can hide, and he runs inside, closing the door just as he sees Hwanwoong appear from around the back of the building. His heart pounds, threatening his throat, and it’s so loud that he’s sure Hwanwoong must hear it from outside.

But the door to the armoury does not move.

Youngjo does not move either for minutes, back flat against the armoury door.

There could be any number of explanations, but none of them drift to the forefront of Youngjo’s mind. His heart drops somewhere low into his abdomen. What would Seoho think of this? His suspicions drip through into Youngjo’s mind and he curses himself. Hwanwoong would never do something secret like this without a good reason. He wracks his brain just trying to think what it could be.

No answer makes enough sense to drown out the voice in his head that says that Hwanwoong may not be the man he once knew.

Not anymore.

~

_Hwanwoong was knighted in mid-winter, in his nineteenth year. Snow was falling, blanketing the palace in a thin layer of white, and cold air rushed through the great hall amongst the small crowd gathered there. Youngjo shivered, his eyes on Hwanwoong down on the flagstone floor below him. The royal family stood on the podium at the end of the hall, while the knights flanked either side of the aisle at which Hwanwoong knelt._

_His head was bowed, arms crossed on one knee. On his armour he wore both the colours of his newly titled family, and the royal family. He spoke his vow aloud, more dedicated than if he were marrying. The oath filled the hall, a promise to defend the crown and the kingdom._

_‘I swear to safeguard the noble and the vulnerable in kind, with my life,’ said Hwanwoong. His sword rested at his side, but in that moment under the eyes of the crowd he was vulnerable, hands empty and head bowed to expose the back of his neck in supplication to his oath. When the sword tapped at his shoulders, he did not move even a hair’s breadth, utterly steady under the eyes of his seniors and peers._

_Youngjo thought that he looked magnificent._

_The room was cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth behind them, but Youngjo felt heat creep over his skin. He looked around, wondering if he was alone, before realising that the heat was coming from somewhere within him rather than from the room._

_If that was the first moment that he saw Hwanwoong as something other than his best friend, then he did not know it yet._

_When the oath was completed, and Hwanwoong received his title, he looked up with a sly smile._

_Sir Hwanwoong._

_He winked at Youngjo, the one face that he picked out across the room._

_Youngjo’s face flushed so red that he had to look away in the guise of saying something to his mother._

_It was not becoming of a prince to turn so scarlet at the whim of one of his knights._

~

Searching Hwanwoong’s room will not take long, but that does not stop Youngjo from sweating with stress. He knows that Hwanwoong has gone down to the market with Keonhee, but he cannot be sure how long they will be. Hwanwoong still does not like spending too much time out in public, preferring to return to the security of the castle and his small quarters. The bed is unslept in, because Hwanwoong stayed with Youngjo again the previous night.

This time, Youngjo had not drifted off for even one minute.

He closes the door behind him and rushes over to the neatly made bed. His heart is pounding high in his chest, and he swallows down his anxiety, reminding himself that whatever the hooded stranger gave to Hwanwoong could be completely innocent.

There is a tremor in his hands as he pulls back the blankets on the bed, then lifts the hard pillows and searches every nook and crevice between the bed and the wall. The velvet-wrapped parcel was not small, there are only so many places that Hwanwoong could have concealed it. He moves his hands to the wooden nightstand, pulling out the only drawer and finding it empty apart from Hwanwoong’s collection of pain and sleeping draughts. Under the bed, too, there is nothing.

In the small wardrobe, only the clothes that Youngjo had ordered for him from the seamstresses. He resorts to running his hands along the stone walls, as if one panel will give way to some secret passage. The further that time ticks without a sign of the package, the more his fingers start to shake. He curses aloud. Could Hwanwoong have hidden it somewhere else in the palace?

He turns and kicks the wall, hard enough that it might bruise his foot.

‘Where, Woong?’ he breathes, trying to put his mind in the direction of how Hwanwoong would think.

His eyes scan up, and he frowns as he lifts his fingertips to one of the torches. They are not lit yet, unnecessary with the light streaming in through the narrow window, but he runs his fingers over the wrought iron. At full stretch, he manages to catch hold of soft material concealed behind the metal, and he smiles triumphantly as he lifts it down. The velvet presses one way under the lightest touch of his fingers, a fabric too delicate for the sort of secret that it could conceal.

Anticipation floods his heart and his veins.

Youngjo steps back and sits down on the edge of Hwanwoong’s bed.

Hesitation catches hold of his hands and he pauses, looking down at the innocent wrapping. This feels like invading Hwanwoong’s privacy in the worst kind of way, and violating his space like this when he just started to settle again will make Youngjo hate himself for the rest of his life if this turns out to be nothing. But it might not be nothing. He unfolds the velvet and his face turns to one of confusion, then shock, then dread, if dread can be adequately reflected in the downturn of one’s eyes.

In his lap rests a dagger, one of the most beautiful that he has ever seen. The tip is sharpened to a ruthless point, and there is an inscription down the blade in a language that Youngjo only vaguely recognises. In the gold hilt there are two red rubies encrusted. This is not the casual gift of some hooded stranger. It’s the gift of a prince or a _king_. And it is not of this kingdom.

Youngjo swallows.

Anxiety floods up from his belly to his throat. It is not fear, he would never _fear_ Hwanwoong. Perhaps it is dread again.

He barely has time to catch hold of the emotion before the door is thrown open and Hwanwoong backs inside, laughing as he shouts something back down the corridor at Keonhee. Youngjo does not even try to hide the dagger, because there is no way that he is the one with something to hide in this moment. His mouth turns dry, but a resolve takes over his body and the shaking stops.

As Hwanwoong turns into the room, his face goes from a smile to an instant flat line. He does not even notice Youngjo, crossing to the right instead and bracing one hand against the closet as he takes several deep breaths. The lack of composure is one that makes the hairs on the back of Youngjo’s neck stand on end.

He’s about to say something when Hwanwoong turns.

‘Youngjo,’ he starts, eyes widening in surprise. Then they travel down to the dagger in his lap, and Youngjo can see the exact moment that horror flashes across them, silver and cold. ‘W-where did you find that?’

‘The same place you hid it,’ says Youngjo. His voice sounds like it belongs to someone else in his ears. A grip of fear finally latches onto his throat; not fear of Hwanwoong, but fear of what this conversation will mean. ‘Why do you have this?’

Hwanwoong ignores him and crosses the room. ‘You didn’t touch it, did you?’ he speaks quickly, quietly, urgently.

Youngjo automatically flinches back, making Hwanwoong pause. The expression that takes over his fear is somewhere between worry and betrayal, but Youngjo can’t help but think that Hwanwoong is not the one who gets to feel betrayed in this moment. ‘Why?’

‘It’s imbued with poison,’ says Hwanwoong. His words are a rush even though his voice itself is quite steady. ‘Do _not_ touch the blade.’

Something acidic kicks up in Youngjo’s throat, and he drops the dagger on its velvet dress to the bed. It sits there, innocent as a blade can be, and Hwanwoong reaches out for it but Youngjo parries his arm with a rough defence. Hwanwoong stops, looking at him with an expression of something like pain, and then he steps back.

‘You have five seconds to explain,’ says Youngjo, ‘or I’m calling the guards.’

Every word drains a little more life from him.

Hwanwoong takes another step back, and for a moment he looks just like the cornered animals that Youngjo has seen on the hunts. His eyes scan the room for exits, and his hand goes to his belt for a sword that isn’t there, that hasn’t been there for a long time. Youngjo stands, closing the gap between them. ‘ _Talk_ ,’ he says roughly, because his worst fear is that Hwanwoong will make him go through with the threat and he hasn’t thought that far ahead.

‘Listen,’ whispers Hwanwoong, and he backs up to the wall, ‘I can explain. I swear I can explain.’

‘Do it faster,’ says Youngjo through gritted teeth.

‘Helios has spies here in the palace,’ Hwanwoong answers in a rush. ‘I was told to meet one of them somewhere secret, so that they could pass this on to me. I was going to tell you but I needed to figure out who the spy was and - ’

‘Back up!’ snaps Youngjo. He’s never felt angry at Hwanwoong, not once, but now rage catches hold of him. His mouth tastes metallic with betrayal. ‘Back way up. Tell me the truth. From the beginning.’

Hwanwoong drops to his knees, and the motion makes Youngjo do the reverse, standing taller until he towers over him. He knows that Hwanwoong falling down like this is a sign of submission, an indication that he’s not here to fight with him, but if anything that makes him angrier. Fighting, at least, is a language that he understands. ‘I couldn’t tell you, hyung. You have to understand. I didn’t know if you would ever trust me, and if they found out that you knew then they’d kill me _and_ you!’

‘Tell me everything. From the start.’ Seoho’s words are raw in his ears, and he feels so _stupid_. Of course it was all too convenient. Too much of a coincidence. Too unbelievable and yet he’d believed it all. He’d wanted to.

Hwanwoong swallows. He’s turned pale, the blood drained from his face. ‘Don’t call the guards.’

‘Do you think I’d really call the guards on you?’ he says in a strained voice.

Hwanwoong swipes his tongue across his lips. ‘When I got home - ’

‘It starts earlier than that,’ interrupts Youngjo, because he knows, now. He’s crafting a picture in his head of what happened as quickly as Hwanwoong is telling him it. ‘Tell me how you really ended up in the woods.’

‘Three years, Youngjo,’ he says with a desperate look in his eyes. ‘It was three _years_.’

‘Tell me!’

Hwanwoong rests his fingertips on the stone floor and squeezes his eyes shut. ‘I told you once. I told you that they thought they could turn me. I told you that they said to me that I could come home if I promised to become their man on the inside. I told you that, Youngjo!’

Youngjo tracks through his mind for the memory, and then his face turns from outrage to disgust to despair in one rapid journey. ‘We joked about it! You never made me _think_ that - ’

‘It was towards the end. They treated me better, fed me better, moved me from my dungeon to a room. Helios came to my quarters every day. He told me how strong I was, how brilliant. He told me that you’d abandoned me. He told me that we could work together, him and I, that I could come back to our territory and all I had to do was – was wait to be passed a weapon, and then - ’

‘Kill me,’ Youngjo finishes hollowly.

Hwanwoong lifts one hand to his own face and runs his fingers over the three brutal scars there. ‘He cut these into my face when he told me: _“he abandoned you, he left you here to rot and die, he chose everything over you”_.’ Hwanwoong’s words are one desperate rush. ‘He told me that – that he’d put this on my face so that I could never see my reflection in the water again without remembering it. Remembering that.’

Youngjo sinks down onto the edge of the bed again.

‘I never believed him,’ chokes Hwanwoong. ‘You have to know it, Youngjo. Hyung. Sire. You have to trust me. But it was – it was my way home – and I knew that once I was here I could… I would…’

‘His people took you to the woods?’

Hwanwoong nods. His eyes are on the floor, unable to look up at him. ‘They said that it had to look real, but in honesty I think they just wanted to hurt me one more time. They beat me terribly before leaving me there. I thought I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to the town. I suppose they knew about the hunt, but I didn’t. When you found me I felt like… like the sun had set and I wasn’t blinded by Sun City anymore. You were the eclipse that blocked out the sun.’

Youngjo clenches his hands on his knees. ‘How did they contact you when you were here?’

‘They didn’t. Not until a few days ago. I was told that I had to meet with their most secure spy, to pass on a weapon that I had to use to kill you. I wanted to tell you, Youngjo, but I needed to find out the identity of the spy. If there was any sign, if they caught a single breath of you knowing, the spy would never have revealed himself to me.’

The feeling in Youngjo’s stomach is something like his guts being pulled from his belly and strung up in a tragic portrait. ‘Why should I believe you?’

Finally, Hwanwoong looks up and meets his eyes. ‘I’ve slept in your bed, Youngjo. If I wanted to kill you then I could have done it last night. Fuck, I could’ve done it any other night when you slept soundly at my side. I didn’t need a dagger, I could’ve strangled you without a soul hearing.’

The thought is as comforting as it is disturbing. ‘You could have told me,’ he says, and he hates that his voice sounds broken.

Hwanwoong stands, unsteady on his feet, and takes a step towards the bed, but Youngjo takes to his feet too and walks away to the other side of the room. Hwanwoong sways on the spot, like he’s unsure what space he is supposed to belong in if Youngjo doesn’t welcome him there. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to live in my head, Youngjo. You don’t know what I’ve seen, what I’ve endured.’ It does not escape Youngjo’s notice that he doesn’t say that he’s sorry.

‘If you’re lying - ’

‘Don’t threaten me,’ says Hwanwoong, and at last his voice sounds completely wearied. He sits down and then lays back on the bed, eyes on the ceiling. ‘I told you once before that there’s nothing left for me to fear. There’s nothing you could say that hasn’t already been done to me. And I’d cherish it all the more from your hand.’

Youngjo stalks over and picks up the dagger from the end of the bed, wrapping it back up in the velvet casing. There are no words left to say. He turns to the door and leaves without a backward glance. The only moment in which he acknowledges that there is still someone else in the room, is when he turns and locks the door behind him, as if one more prison isn’t the most familiar home that Hwanwoong could have.

~

_Moonlight spilled over the forest, the shelter of the trees giving way to a spattering of stars that Youngjo could see every few paces. He kept his eyes up, but his mind was on Hwanwoong, a few paces behind him. They were on a mission for the court physician, searching out a white flower that bloomed only at night and only in the full gaze of the moonlight. It was hours since the last glimmer of sun, and the forest was dangerous at night, but Youngjo felt safe._

_Hwanwoong was with him, and Hwanwoong was the most skilled swordsman in the kingdom._

_‘It’s so quiet and so loud,’ whispered Hwanwoong._

_Even though it was a strange thing to say, Youngjo understood. Without the intervention of humans, the forest was silent, unlike the city where there were raucous cries at all hours or the sounds of carts trundling on the stones or whisperings of illicit meetings down side alleys. And yet the trees teemed with a different kind of noise. Insects and animals made their way across and through the leaves with a soft rustling, and the very trees themselves seemed to whisper into the night._

_Youngjo stopped and turned to Hwanwoong._

_The moonlight was glancing off the younger man’s face, casting him into such relief that Youngjo had to stop just to look at him. One side was in shadow, the other glowing like he was from another world. His strong brow, nose, were outlined by bluish white light, while his eyes glinted silver, different to their usual dark warm tones. In the noisy silence of the forest, Youngjo realised that they were completely alone. No one here to see them._

_‘What?’ smiled Hwanwoong, when he saw that Youngjo was staring at him._

_‘Nothing.’_

_Hwanwoong grinned and skipped to catch up with him until they were close together. ‘Tell me.’_

_‘I can’t,’ he said. The words resonated in the quiet. They told of a story of a prince who couldn’t allow himself to feel something that wasn’t his duty, but it spread hot over his skin and consumed his soul like the light of the moon that could never be put out._

_‘You can’t keep secrets from me, I’m your best friend,’ Hwanwoong rolled his eyes._

_In that moment, hidden from the eyes of all else, Youngjo gave in to himself just for a single moment. He closed the last of the gap between them and caressed Hwanwoong’s face with one deft touch. Hwanwoong looked up into his eyes, through dark long lashes, and he didn’t move. He was so steady that he could’ve been made of stone, but his skin was soft in the way that only Hwanwoong could be – warm, familiar, reminiscent of home._

_‘What if it’s a secret that could ruin everything?’ Youngjo whispers._

_Hwanwoong stood on the tips of his toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and it sent a sensation so visceral through Youngjo’s veins that his hands vibrated. Butterflies burst from their cocoons in his tummy. He ran his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of Hwanwoong’s neck, and his other hand moved to his lower back, pulling him closer until Hwanwoong turned his face and sighed against his jaw instead._

_‘We have to find the flower.’_

_‘Woong - ’_

_‘You’ve never been ruinous, hyung,’ Hwanwoong said with a shy smile. ‘You need to stop worrying so much.’_

~

Youngjo clenches his hand around the scabbard, tight enough until his knuckles turn so white that the bones threaten to break the skin. The scabbard is leather and metal, gleaming cream and gold. The hilt of the sword that is exposed is smooth and polished in intertwined gold and silver, like leafy stems interlacing on the forest floor. It’s a regal weapon, the sort that a prince might carry, but it’s not for him.

He sways on the balls of his feet, mind racing a mile a minute. The thought of their fight winds into the back of his brain and it’s as if he can still feel the weight of the dagger in its velvet casing pressing on his palm, even though it has long since been left locked in a drawer in his quarters. Then, he reminds himself of Hwanwoong’s face. Hwanwoong. Hwanwoong who he’s known for so long that he feels like a part of him. With a deep breath, he opens the door to the chamber and braces himself.

Hwanwoong is laying back on his bed again, staring up at the ceiling like it’s telling him a story that Youngjo can’t read. Youngjo steps into the room and holds out the sheathed sword without a word.

Hwanwoong turns and sits up before swinging his legs off the bed. Before he can even open his mouth, Youngjo acts.

‘Here,’ he throws him the sword, and Hwanwoong’s reflexes are catlike. He extends his hand and catches the scabbard in his palm with a satisfying _thwack_ , shoulder dropping just a little with the weight. ‘The bladesmith brought it to me yesterday.’

Hwanwoong’s throat bobs as he swallows, turning the scabbard onto its side and holding it level with his eyes. ‘Youngjo - ’

‘Why don’t you try it out?’ he cuts across, not eager to listen to more explanations, more defences, or more promises.

Hwanwoong doesn’t need to be asked twice. He unsheathes the sword in one fluid motion and stands, giving it an experimental turn in his hand. The blade glints silver, engraved with Hwanwoong’s name below the hilt, and he swivels it twice around his body, an old training ground trick. The sword has been designed for him, a little smaller than average to make use of his low centre of gravity, and is so beautifully balanced that he can hold the flat of the blade on one finger.

‘It’s a work of art,’ Hwanwoong breathes as he takes hold of the hilt again. When he touches the tip, a bubble of blood appears on the pad of his finger. For a tool of destruction, it’s a beautiful one. ‘Thank you.’ A pause. Then he starts, ‘I didn’t think - ’

‘I’m putting my faith in you,’ interrupts Youngjo, looking up from the floor to face him properly at last. Hwanwoong nods quickly and sheathes the new sword before bowing low with it held to his side. Youngjo sighs and straightens up – he’s made his choice. ‘Don’t make me regret it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all ^-^ I’m here with the third part! It’s a little bit longer than the other two but I hope that’s okay <3 Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter I can’t believe the love I’ve received!   
> A reminder of the warnings for this chapter! The work contains graphic depictions of violence, blood, and deaths (though not of anyone we care about I promise T.T)   
> I hope that you like that chapter and I’ll see you in the final part <3 x

Hwanwoong meets Youngjo in the second corridor from his room at dawn. The castle has an eerie air at this time, the narrow windows not allowing enough morning light to spill onto the flagstones but the torches already snuffed out. Greyish light gives the hallways a misty air, and footsteps echo louder than usual. Youngjo hears him coming a corridor away, and when he rounds the corner he’s caught in a moment of weakness, lips parting.

Hwanwoong looks like a knight again. A leather plate covers his chest, buckled at his shoulders in shining silver, and bands of metal protect his joints. One panel covers his damaged clavicle. The blue robes of the court have been replaced with soft black fabric that billows from the gaps in his defensive shell. At his side, the bright sword, in contrast with the black and grey, a pretty weapon of war becoming of his angelic face. He looks like the Hwanwoong that Youngjo lost three years ago.

‘Morning,’ says Youngjo when he remembers how to speak.

Up close, however, Hwanwoong does not look so good. His skin is a little grey and his eyes puffy, like he slept badly. ‘Hey.’

‘Are you okay?’ Youngjo asks automatically, protective instinct grasping hold of him.

Hwanwoong shrugs. ‘I didn’t sleep. I’m fine.’

Guilt takes a vice on Youngjo’s throat when he remembers how well Hwanwoong slept by his side, in his bed, and the thought of him curled up alone at night makes his stomach feel hollow. ‘Did you take your sleeping draught?’

‘Mmhm,’ Hwanwoong hums. ‘But I woke up soon after with a nightmare. It happens sometimes. It was so dark that I didn’t know where I was. After that I didn’t sleep again, but the draught made my limbs feel heavy. I couldn’t even get out of bed to move around or do something.’

If inviting Hwanwoong back into his bed would be easy, Youngjo would do it in a second. But it’s not easy. It’ll never be easy again. The thread of trust that traversed three years is frayed and unstable; until someone repairs it, it won’t be strong enough to hold the two of them. So Youngjo says nothing, and instead moves the subject to the reason for their meeting. ‘Let’s go down to the training grounds. We can talk more easily there.’

Important conversations, contrary to the thinking of many, ought not be held in quiet, secluded places. Those are the places where spies hide and overhear. Somewhere with noise and action is safer.

Even at dawn, the training grounds are active. Perhaps not as much as on previous mornings, because there is a hint of rain on the air and the knights are fatigued from the hot summer, preferring to spend time inside. Youngjo understands that, as despite the early hour the humidity makes his hair stick to his forehead and his palms sweat as soon as they step outside. The tail-end of summer whips back with a kick of wet heat, like a final reminder of its power.

There are several young squires battling with blunt swords out in the middle of the courtyard, and Dongju is firing arrows at the round wooden targets. He’s always up the earliest, these days, determined to be better. Youngjo thinks how it would be if Hwanwoong was back out there again, helping him practice, teaching him the tricks that only Hwanwoong can teach. Little idiosyncrasies with a sword that catch even the most skilled swordsmen off guard, unique postures that he created for himself that use the enemy’s weight against them. Dongju is not as small as Hwanwoong but he’s slender – he could learn so much from him, but they had not been gifted enough time to train together.

‘You’re sure that you didn’t know the spy?’ says Youngjo, when they take up a position to watch the younger men practice, just as the senior knights might do on any morning like this. ‘You don’t think it’s someone that could’ve changed in the years you were away?’

Hwanwoong shakes his head. They talk straight ahead, rather than looking at each other. ‘I definitely haven’t seen him before. His face was covered, but I’d know his voice. He sounded young, maybe younger than me. He was a little taller but thin, really thin. Helios said that he was his most secure spy, his most trusted. That means that he must be someone close to you.’

Youngjo nods, eyes on the arrows from Dongju’s bow that snap through the target like lightning bolts. ‘You’ll have to accompany me until we find him. Do you think you can do it? Act like it’s nothing if you see him by my side?’

There’s a pause and then Hwanwoong turns to give him a small, guilty smile. ‘Did _you_ suspect that I was lying to you?’

‘No,’ he sighs. ‘Seoho did.’

Hwanwoong looks back out with a wry smile. ‘Of course Seoho did.’

They watch the young men sparring together, and perhaps memories drift over both of them, of a time when they’d knock each other down and pick each other up, both determined to become the best that they could be. There are several inches between them where they stand, a distance more pronounced than even when Hwanwoong first got home; there’s a buzz of nervous energy, though, between their shoulders. Youngjo swallows and shifts his body. ‘I’m afraid that shadowing me will be very boring.’

With another laugh, Hwanwoong raises his eyebrows. ‘Princely life? Boring? Say it’s not so.’ When he laughs, he looks younger again. It lights up his face, and for a second the deep scars on his cheek could merely be the creases of laughter. His eyes crinkle at their corners. It would be easy for Youngjo to forget the water under the bridge, looking at Hwanwoong like this. Dangerously easy.

‘I spend much of my days meeting ambassadors, drafting letters, checking reports. Since I took over my father’s duties it’s not all as carefree as it used to be. I can’t just pass the time on the training grounds anymore.’

Hwanwoong bows his head in mock respect. ‘Then follow you to the ambassadors I will.’

‘I have to meet with representatives from the north this morning,’ says Youngjo. He takes a deep breath before continuing, because it has gone around and around in his head whether to mention this to Hwanwoong. But he chose to trust him, and there’s no point trusting him if he’s going to keep secrets. ‘They could be important allies, when we make our siege on Sun City.’

Even though they are not touching, he feels the moment that Hwanwoong tenses at his side. It’s as if the air moves. ‘You want to carry out a siege on Sun City?’

‘We’ve been planning it for a long time. For the change of the season.’

Hwanwoong swallows. ‘That’s soon.’

‘We can’t let Helios rain his tyranny down on everyone any longer. He’s been threatening our outer villages, not to mention bringing misery to his own people. And what he did to you - ’

‘I want to come,’ interrupts Hwanwoong without hesitation.

‘You’re the best fighter I have, the best fighter I’ve ever seen. If you weren’t coming then I’d be worried.’

The compliment doesn’t change Hwanwoong’s expression. He’s been told of his talents enough times.

Youngjo continues. ‘And you have a knowledge of Sun City that the rest of us don’t. Before we go, I need you to tell me everything that you know, draw whatever maps you can. Our spies have given us so much but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t one important thing left that you might be able to tell us, something we’d never have expected.’

‘There are blind spots,’ he warns, ‘many places that I’ve never seen. The fortress is impeccably constructed. But of course I’ll do what I can. First, though, I need to get back to training. It’s been a long time since I’ve wielded a sword.’

‘Later,’ says Youngjo, ‘we’ll come down here and practice like we used to.’

‘I’d like that,’ he smiles.

Youngjo’s stomach turns over as he remembers that he shouldn’t be smiling back, shouldn’t be acting like nothing happened. Things have changed. But it’s so easy to fall into a rhythm with Hwanwoong. ‘First, let’s meet the ambassadors.’

They turn away together to head back into the palace, and they slip into an uncomfortable silence. Whenever Youngjo remembers, _remembers_ why he can’t be so friendly anymore, it turns awkward like this. For the first time in a life-time, being with Hwanwoong is unsettling. It makes him question himself as much as his friend, his own judgment swimming to the forefront of his mind with nagging anxiety. For so long, it was never quiet between them. Sure enough, before long Hwanwoong cannot resist speaking, but what he says is not what Youngjo expected.

‘Will you still let me kill him?’

‘Who?’ he asks, and the second the word escapes his lips, he knows it’s a stupid question.

‘Helios. You told me that I could be the one to kill him.’

Youngjo nods. It’s not in his blood to care about things like individual kills, so long as Helios is dead one way or another then that is victory. But it matters to Hwanwoong. Of course it matters to Hwanwoong. ‘I’ll hand him to you to cut up like a training dummy if that’ll help you chase out the ghosts in your mind.’

Hwanwoong’s lips twitch up at the corners. Maybe he’s imagining, in graphic detail, all of the ways that he could kill Helios.

When they reach the chamber where Youngjo meets his ambassadors, he introduces Hwanwoong to his scribe, Haechi, and to the servant who serves the ceramic cups of tea and liquor here, Munsu. Hwanwoong inclines his head, but the others bow low. Everyone has heard Hwanwoong’s story, and he’s turned into more of a legend alive than he even was when everyone thought him dead. Nobody questions his presence, as it is not unusual for Youngjo to have one of his knights with him while he works.

Youngjo can sense Hwanwoong’s boredom when he meets with the three ambassadors from the north; it’s almost palpable on the air. There’s a constant sound of shuffling, or pacing, or tapping when he fiddles with the hilt of his sword. One thing is certain: Hwanwoong was born to be a knight, not a statesman. His impatience would render Youngjo uncomfortable if it didn’t make him laugh inside so much.

Still, Youngjo sits through the meeting with diligence and has Haechi prepare a document for them to sign together, a wax-sealed promise of alliance. Youngjo pledges his armies to the defence of the northern cities if they are ever under siege, and in return the representatives of the north sign their allegiance to any military attack that the Kim dynasty choose to make.

It’s an important alliance, one that Youngjo’s father cultivated for many years before Youngjo took over, and the conclusion being made now is vital, in time for the siege on Sun City. He hopes that his triumph is not as tangible in the air as Hwanwoong’s boredom. Such an outward display might not be appreciated from a prince.

When the meeting is completed and Youngjo bows in respect, one of the ambassadors smiles. ‘Perhaps one day we will see Sir Hwanwoong leading a charge in defence of the north. We would be honoured. Word of your skill has reached even the furthest corners of the land.’

Hwanwoong looks up in surprise as being addressed. He bows too. ‘The honour would be mine, to defend our allies in the north.’

For the first time since the meeting begun, he sounds interested. All it takes is a mention of battle and his stance changes, opens up, becomes attentive.

When the ambassadors leave, Youngjo walks with them to the courtyard where their contingent are waiting. Hwanwoong follows several paces behind out of respect, but he stands by Youngjo’s shoulder when they wave the ambassadors on their way. With a smile, Youngjo talks out of the corner of his mouth to Hwanwoong. ‘How are you enjoying being my shadow? I got the impression you were having _so_ much fun.’

Hwanwoong laughs, and when Youngjo glances his way there is a smug, airy expression on his face.

‘What?’ he says.

Hwanwoong looks around and then claps a hand onto Youngjo’s shoulder with a squeeze. ‘I don’t need to follow you anymore. I know who your spy is.’

~

_The two of them moved through the village together on foot, because for Youngjo there was nothing honourable about riding through a burned village on horseback. Helios’ men had not left much behind, the survivors huddled together in what had once been the stables. Fury spilled from Youngjo in waves, as he crouched down and touched the stains of blood on the earth and the black dust of soot. This was not a battlefield, this was somewhere that people should have been safe._

_‘We have to make Helios pay,’ said Youngjo through gritted teeth._

_Hwanwoong nodded, still standing, looking out over the remains of the village. It was on the outer fringe of their territory, too close to the lands controlled by Helios. ‘We will, Youngjo. We’ll raze Sun City to the ground if we have to. We will have our revenge.’_

_Youngjo stood and pushed open the collapsing door of a half-standing house. Dust and smoke tinged the air when he stepped inside, and then he froze. Someone, somewhere, was crying. He stepped further inside, even though the structure was at risk of collapse, and peered around the darkness._

_Then he saw them, two girls huddled under a table. They were holding hands. They couldn’t have been older than five or six._

_Youngjo held out an abrupt arm to stop Hwanwoong, who had followed him, and knelt down. ‘Hey,’ he whispered, ‘it’s okay.’ He spoke informally, and reached his hand out. ‘We’ll help you find your parents.’_

_It took him minutes just to coax them out from under the table, minutes in which he listened to the dangerous creak of the house and covered his mouth with his collar to try to stop breathing in the dust. Only when they finally crept out from under the table did Youngjo lift one onto his hip without hesitation, nodding for Hwanwoong to carry the other. Hwanwoong, who was less soft and gentle and more of a warrior, looked awkward, but he helped nonetheless._

_They moved swiftly, ducking out from the building, heading in the direction of the stables. Then, one of the girls screamed, as the house behind them collapsed in on itself, burnt out and turned to rubble. Youngjo’s ear rang, and he held the child in front of him to shelter her from the dust that was thrown up into the air again._

_A few more seconds inside, and they all would have been crushed._

_Hwanwoong joked, often, that Youngjo’s soft heart would be the death of all of them, but even then he had never been able to leave someone behind, had never been able to treat someone vulnerable with anything less than the gentlest touch._

_What was the worth in being a prince if he could not protect his people?_

~

Youngjo picked up the first thing that he found in his quarters and threw it against the wall as hard as he could. The cup exploded as much as smashed, spattering ceramic across the floor and the bed. ‘I took him in. He had nothing, and I brought him in here! Gave him a home! And this is how he repays me?’ He knows that he needs to keep his voice down, but it’s difficult to keep the rage from bubbling over in his throat. ‘He betrays me, feeds my enemy, and all for what? Gold?’

Hwanwoong had flinched slightly when the ceramic shattered. He reaches down and picks up a shard that spun his way across the floor and runs his thumb over one of the sharp edges. ‘Youngjo… I – there’s a chance that he was never homeless at all. This could’ve been set up by Helios from the start. Perhaps he was always loyal to him.’

Youngjo’s mind races. The thought that the boy he found in the street, the clever, bright-eyed boy working out of the back of the inn writing love letters for soldiers to give to ladies… He doesn’t know if it would be better or worse if he’d been Helios’ man all along.

‘How many boys of that age on the street know how to write calligraphy, hyung?’ Hwanwoong says softly.

Youngjo thinks back to when he found Haechi, and suddenly he feels so stupid that he has to close his eyes, unwilling to see any part of himself, like even a glimpse of his own hand will fill him with self-loathing. What other mistakes did he make in those years when Hwanwoong was gone? Was his mind so clouded, his judgment destroyed by the loss of his lover? Would he ever have been so foolish if Hwanwoong had still been by his side? He kneads his forehead roughly.

‘It’s so obvious now…’ he whispers.

Hwanwoong collects the shards of ceramic from the floor and the bed and places them down gently on the desk. ‘It’s the perfect position for a spy. The scribe will have had access to all of your letters, all of your private conversations, all of your alliances. Anything that has been put in writing, we can no longer trust.’

‘I was so _stupid_ ,’ Youngjo says again, only half listening.

He jumps when Hwanwoong’s fingers close around his arm, but he doesn’t shake off the touch. ‘There is no use in thinking about the mistakes we’ve made. When I couldn’t sleep in my cell in Sun City, I thought over and over about what I could’ve done differently, about how I could have evaded capture. It changes nothing, and only eats away at you inside until you become hollow.’

‘I’m going to - ’ to what? Kill Haechi? No. Youngjo’s never been good at that kind of thing. Then what? Throw him in the dungeon? ‘I don’t _know_ what I’m going to do.’

‘Don’t act rashly,’ murmurs Hwanwoong. ‘We could use this to our advantage. Helios believes that I am here on his orders. They have no reason to think that you would suspect Haechi. And he’s a direct line to Sun City. If we play this right then we can pass on whatever message we want straight to Helios.’

Youngjo frowns, but Hwanwoong’s words are starting to make sense. ‘You mean we could leak something…’

‘Like the siege. If Helios suspects from the alliances that you’ve made, then we can make up for the damage that has been done by sending him in the wrong direction. If we planted the seed of a siege much later, for example…’

Youngjo nods slowly. ‘We can feed to Haechi that the assault won’t be until winter, and Haechi will feed it straight to Helios…’

For the first time since Hwanwoong breathed the scribe’s name into his ear in the courtyard, Youngjo’s heart calms just a little. It’s still rapid, a drum against his chest, but it doesn’t threaten to burst out anymore. He lowers himself into his chair and closes his hands around the arms in a tight grip as he tries to calm himself down. He does not know how many more twists, how many more betrayals and non-betrayals he can take.

First his father.

Then Hwanwoong.

Now Haechi.

For a moment, he loses grip on his controlled persona, the one that as a prince he’s had to work on since he was a child. The one that can never show weakness. The one that brings risk upon his life every split second that he makes himself vulnerable. He takes Hwanwoong’s hand, and Hwanwoong turns back in surprise, looking down at him. ‘Tell me I can trust you,’ whispers Youngjo.

Taken aback, Hwanwoong swallows. ‘I’ve told you, Youngjo. I’ll prove it to you. You can trust - ’

‘Make me believe it,’ he says in a pained voice, ‘make me believe it so truly that I’ll never feel another second of doubt.’

Quiet settles between them, and the air in the room is heavy. After a second, Hwanwoong crouches down beside his chair and places his other hand over Youngjo’s, squeezing it tight. ‘Look at me,’ he says, and Youngjo looks down into his eyes, into the maze of dark sky and glittering golden stars when the light catches. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says at last, ‘I’m so sorry that I broke our trust. I’m sorry that thanks to my choices, you have to feel like this.’

Youngjo doesn’t know what to say.

‘The truth is…’ Hwanwoong looks down at their joined hands. ‘The truth is that I was scared.’

‘Woong - ’

‘I know you think I’m fearless, but I’m not, I wasn’t then. I was terrified. It wasn’t just the pain, it wasn’t just not seeing sunlight for weeks on end; I was so scared that if I was there any longer I would break, that I _would_ become what Helios wanted me to be. And since getting home I’ve been terrified of hurting you, of hurting someone else when I lose control. I can’t sleep because I’m afraid to close my eyes in case I wake up back there. And I couldn’t tell you because you’ve always believed that I’m so strong. I didn’t want you to think I was weak, that I was broken or - ’

Youngjo interlinks their fingers and runs his thumbs over Hwanwoong’s knuckles. Now, it feels like he is the one holding him, squeezing him tight to remind him that he’s there. ‘You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. In my eyes you’re always fearless. Telling me the truth _is_ your courage.’

Hwanwoong lowers his head and rests his forehead against Youngjo’s knee, hiding his face. ‘I fought for you. I stayed alive for you. And knowing I let you down… I hate myself. I _hate_ myself.’

Youngjo moves one hand and strokes his fingers through Hwanwoong’s soft hair. As he pushes it behind his ear he feels Hwanwoong relax at the touch. ‘You said it yourself, Woong, you can’t hate yourself for the choices you made. Look at me,’ he steals Hwanwoong’s words from earlier, until he lifts his head and meets Youngjo’s gaze with his tired, shadowed eyes. ‘I trust you,’ says Youngjo. ‘I’ll always trust you.’

‘Will you let me be close to you again?’

Youngjo cups Hwanwoong’s scarred cheek in his hand and nods. ‘We spent too long apart already. I never want to live like that again.’

Despite everything, despite the impending siege and the spies within the castle walls and taste of treason stale on the air, with Hwanwoong’s skin soft against his Youngjo feels completely calm.

Like one day he’ll know peace again.

~

_‘Don’t even try,’ said Geonhak to Dongju, when the latter started to walk over to where Youngjo and Hwanwoong were sat under the shadow of the armoury, backs against the wall, whispering something conspiratorially together. ‘Trust me, they don’t want to be interrupted.’_

_Youngjo looked up at the sound of their voices and smiled. He unwrapped his arm from around Hwanwoong’s shoulders, even though Hwanwoong looked at him with an expression of annoyance at his abandonment. The courtyard was glowing with evening light from the fire they’d lit and the burgeoning moon. Embers floated in the air all the way over to the couple’s corner. ‘Dongju, what is it?’_

_Ignoring Geonhak’s advice, Dongju skipped over to the two of them. ‘I received the notification from your father today!’ he announced to Youngjo. ‘I’m going to be knighted!’_

_Youngjo stood up, and Hwanwoong let out a breath as he fell sideways, his support gone. ‘That’s amazing, Dongju!’_

_Dongju beamed before running backwards to Geonhak again. ‘I need to find Keonhee and Seoho!’_

_As Youngjo slid back down the wall, he and Hwanwoong turned to each other. Youngjo’s face turned from a smile to flat in a second. ‘You know why they’re knighting him so young, right?’ he said._

_‘Yes.’_

_‘They want more knights for the upcoming war, against Helios,’ Youngjo continued._

_‘I know.’_

_Youngjo sighed and looked over to where Dongju was now bouncing buoyantly alongside Geonhak. ‘He’s too young.’_

_‘He’s older than I was, when I first went to war.’_

_‘You’re different,’ Youngjo rolled his eyes. ‘You were born for war. They could’ve sent you in a cradle.’_

_Hwanwoong laughed, throwing his head back. Youngjo’s eyes travelled the length of his throat, up the line of his jaw. ‘He’ll be fine. He has us to look out for him.’_

_Tongue touching out over his lips just for a second, Youngjo remembered the point at hand. ‘If anything happens to one of the five of you…’_

_‘If something happens, then it happens,’ said Hwanwoong, and his face turned quite serious. ‘We’re knights, hyung. We all know what we’ve signed up for. If something happens in the war then it will be a noble death.’_

_Youngjo took Hwanwoong’s hand in his, not caring if someone else in the twilight training grounds was watching them. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, reminding himself that the important thing was that Hwanwoong was here with him_ now _. The future did not – could not – matter in this moment._

_Hwanwoong smiled and turned his gaze up to the sky. ‘I’ll be ready to die for my prince.’_

~

They watch the messenger leave from the rooftop of the palace. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out who Haechi was using to send his messages, once they started following him. Youngjo and Hwanwoong watch as the man mounts his horse, a letter hidden under his cloak, a letter filled with lies that might be the secret to their success. As he rides out, Hwanwoong leans on the stone ledge and looks down at the dramatic drop below.

Youngjo watches him, eyes on his sharp profile. The wind at this height blows roughly through his hair, and Hwanwoong keeps running his hands through it to keep it away from his face. ‘Do you think it will work?’ Youngjo asks.

‘It’s the best shot we have,’ shrugs Hwanwoong.

Nervous energy ripples across the rooftop. It is only a couple of weeks until their planned siege on Sun City, and with the letter sent off there can be no delay, no turning back. The hand that isn’t carding through Hwanwoong’s hair is toying with the hilt of his sword. Youngjo has been watching him, these last few days down on the training grounds. With his collarbone healed, Hwanwoong’s sword-craft is ruthless.

He trains with the other knights, but none of them are his equal, and Youngjo knows that it frustrates him. Even when Youngjo spars with him himself, it’s over too quickly. Every time Hwanwoong fights, a collection of knights and squires and guards and even pages come to crowd around to watch, but he never takes his eye off the opponent. If there’s no one who dares to spar with him on that day, then he takes out what Youngjo can only assume is his _rage_ on the training dummies. He slashes them to pieces, and one time when Youngjo caught him alone, he was staring down at the blank wooden face of one like he was imagining who might be lying there.

‘Are you nervous?’ asks Youngjo.

‘No,’ says Hwanwoong without pause.

‘We’re being honest with each other, remember?’ he whispers, and Hwanwoong turns around to face him. ‘You’re going to be back there, Hwanwoong, where everything… where everything happened.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you scared?’

Hwanwoong’s palm kneads over the end of his sword hilt. ‘Of Helios? No. Of seeing the place where I was imprisoned? No. Of being captured again and tortured again and taken from you just when I got you back? Yes, of course I’m scared of it happening again. But it’s not going to. So I can’t think like that. It’ll eat me up if I do.’

Youngjo catches Hwanwoong’s elbows when he goes to turn away, and trails his hands down his forearms to his hands. ‘I’ll be right there by your side, Woong. If you are captured then we won’t be parted because they’ll be catching me right with you. I won’t leave your side for a second, I promise. I won’t leave you alone again. Ever. I won’t let them take you from me.’

Alone on the rooftop, they kiss again. Youngjo pulls Hwanwoong to him, a protective arm around his back that slides down to his hip and his other hand burying in his hair. Hwanwoong lets out a little gasp of surprise, before he sinks into his touch like he was made to fit against him. Youngjo parts Hwanwoong’s lips and deepens the kiss, tracing their tongues together with light touch. It’s not sensual or rough but a deep reminder that he’s _there_ , that they’re together, that he won’t leave him alone.

When they part, Hwanwoong stands on his toes to kiss him once, twice more, gentle caresses to his lips.

‘Let’s kill him together,’ says Hwanwoong, like it’s the most romantic sort of thing that lovers could share.

Youngjo strokes his face and nods. ‘Yes.’

They part and Hwanwoong draws his sword, giving it a casual turn in the wind of the rooftop. ‘Spar with me?’ he says with a cocky smile, and Youngjo rolls his eyes but he draws his sword too. Fighting feels as familiar as kissing. More familiar.

‘But you know you’ll win,’ says Youngjo. They stand a distance apart, sword blades scraping together with a sound that will ring all the way down to the courtyard.

‘I know, but it’s sweet watching you try,’ grins Hwanwoong, and at that Youngjo darts forward, snapping Hwanwoong’s sword away. Hwanwoong doesn’t even fight it, letting Youngjo get close to him and grab him by the collar. ‘And you’re the only person who gives me a challenge,’ Hwanwoong adds quickly, breathless with a laugh as he fields his defence.

Their faces an inch apart, Youngjo can’t resist kissing him again. He kisses the end of Hwanwoong’s nose and Hwanwoong turns away with an embarrassed laugh. For a second, he’s not a knight, but a carefree young man, caught off guard by the prince that he’s always liked. ‘Stop it!’ he whines.

‘Do you mean that?’ laughs Youngjo.

‘No,’ says Hwanwoong, and for a moment it’s as if the past floats away like ashes in the wind.

~

_If this might be the last time that the six of them all sat together, then it wasn’t betrayed on their faces. They kept the tone light, as they sat around benches in the feast hall, flaming torches spilling light onto their table. None of them mentioned the fact that the chances of all six of them coming out of the war uninjured was slim, none of them mentioned the battle at all. Youngjo and Geonhak shared cups of liquor, while the others sipped diluted wine or water, wanting to keep sharp for the morning._

_Seoho and Hwanwoong discussed their time at the first war, giving blow-by-blow accounts of some of their finest moments to Dongju, who watched with rapt attention. Keonhee told stories about their time as teenagers, that even Youngjo had forgotten. All the while they ate, even though everyone else in the palace had gone to sleep. This would be their last night together here, and they needed to build their strength._

_There wasn’t food like this once you were out on the front._

_‘Come to my room tonight?’ murmured Youngjo in Hwanwoong’s ear when there was a pause in the conversation. No one else could hear them, but Hwanwoong still looked down, playing with his food._

_‘We have a war to fight tomorrow,’ he said._

_‘That’s why I’m asking,’ said Youngjo._

_‘Well how could I ever deny my prince?’ Hwanwoong smiled, and then looked back up at the five of them, before pointing his chopsticks accusatorily at Dongju. ‘Do you remember the first time Dongju showed up on the training grounds with Geonhak? And he tripped on the spear rack and they fell_ everywhere _, rolled all across - ’_

_Dongju threw a ball of tight compacted rice straight at his head._

~

The night before they begin their movement east, Youngjo does not think he’ll sleep. His mind is racing, and though his courtiers sent him up to his quarters, telling him that the best thing he could do now is rest, he can’t help but think that he should be prowling the castle, making last minute decisions and lobbying the morale of his knights. He stares up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the intricate patterns painted in blue and purple there, but they tesselate ceaselessly.

No beginning, no end.

Just like this war with Helios.

It seems to have raged all his life.

When the door opens, he lunges for his weapon, but then he sees that it is Hwanwoong, slipping inside the room wordlessly. His heart rate spikes, but settles soon after. Hwanwoong is tip-toeing in, a ceramic jar of wine in one hand and his sword scabbard in the other. Since Youngjo gave it to him, he has gone nowhere without it.

‘You don’t have to sneak,’ says Youngjo, ‘I’m still awake.’

Hwanwoong places his sword down on Youngjo’s desk and gives him a small smile. ‘I know that you didn’t invite me, but - ’

Youngjo opens his arms, in a gesture for Hwanwoong to come to his bed.

Hwanwoong sets down the wine and takes off his outer clothes first. When he’s left in his black shirt, bishop sleeves, and his second-skin pants for riding, he crosses to the bed and holds out the wine jar. ‘I thought that we could share this.’

‘You never used to drink before a battle,’ says Youngjo.

‘I’m trying new things,’ laughs Hwanwoong. He climbs into Youngjo’s outstretched arms and lifts his feet up onto the bed.

Together, they lean back against the stack of pillows that Youngjo has assembled, and he takes the wine. When it hits the back of his throat, he exhales in relief, remembering when he and some of the other knights would enjoy liquor before fights. The taste is sweet and spiced, perhaps one of Hwanwoong’s own mixes because he used to find him sometimes adding cloves and orange to his wines, tasting them with satisfied smiles. Youngjo had thought that once he was king, he would bring the finest makers of wine to the palace just for Hwanwoong.

He wraps his free arm around Hwanwoong’s waist and feels the taut muscles beneath his shirt. His mind drifts back to when he held him on his horse on the way back from the forest, and all he felt was his bones pushing against his skin and the concave of a starved stomach. Apart from the scars on his face, it would impossible to recognise Hwanwoong now from the broken body he’d found in the woods.

‘Do you think that our spy at the gates can be trusted?’ asks Hwanwoong.

He’s talking about the first in the network of spies who are intrinsic to the success of their plan. The soldiers from the north are already marching, ready to unite with the travelling Kim troops and draw the armies of Sun City out into the open. Helios won’t ride out with them – he never does, preferring to keep safe in his ivory tower. Then, Youngjo and his five knights will infiltrate the stronghold with the help of their spies, and take apart the city from the inside.

Starting with Helios.

‘I trust them,’ says Youngjo, speaking of all their spies. It’s a lie. After the last few weeks, he doesn’t know if he’ll trust anyone ever again other than his brothers and the man in his arms. Hwanwoong doesn’t need to know that, though, not when he blames himself already for Youngjo’s troubles. And now, with the plan so advanced, Youngjo has no choice but to rely on loyalty even if anxiety grips his stomach. ‘But let’s not talk about the siege. The armies are already marching, our fate whatever it may be is sealed now.’

Hwanwoong nods and rests his head back at the crook of Youngjo’s neck. His eyes trace the same patterns that Youngjo’s did earlier. As they sit, Youngjo lifts the wine to Hwanwoong’s lips and holds it there while he drinks. It’s an intimate motion, and when he takes it away he looks down at the droplets of red on Hwanwoong’s lips. He thinks about kissing them away, but Hwanwoong’s tongue darts out and takes them before he can move.

‘Whatever happens, Youngjo, I want you to remember me like this,’ says Hwanwoong.

Youngjo’s body tenses, and his face turns to a frown. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I don’t know how I’ll react in Sun City, how I’ll react when I see _him_. You saw how I am in my nightmares. If I lose control - ’

‘I won’t let you lose control.’

‘But - ’

‘I won’t,’ Youngjo tightens his grip, like that will reassure Hwanwoong that he has a hold of his mind as well as his body. ‘When we return in several days, you’ll be swathed in glory, just like you always are after battle. Everyone will talk for centuries about how you slaughtered Helios. Your mind will be at peace and your legend will ride a stallion into memory.’

‘As long as you’re there with me, the legend isn’t so important,’ whispers Hwanwoong.

‘I won’t leave your side. It won’t be like last time,’ he adds, even though the words cut at him to speak aloud.

After that, they fall into silence. It’s a long time before one of them falls asleep, but it’s Youngjo who slips first, subconsciously aware that Hwanwoong is still awake in his arms, shifting every once in a while.

Youngjo wishes that he would dream of Hwanwoong.

But he doesn’t.

He dreams of Helios, of a dark dungeon, and of a riderless horse crashing through the forest in panic.

~

_Youngjo had watched Hwanwoong haul himself up on the training grounds to fight everyone who ever questioned him, and watched as he grew into the finest young swordsman in the kingdom. He’d watched him on the battlefield, red with the blood of the enemy, cutting down all in his path. He’d watched him knighted, in front of the eyes of all the court, the most anticipated knighthood of Youngjo’s lifetime. None of those things, though, compared to how he looked tonight._

_He was so commanding, straddled over Youngjo’s hips as he pushed the clothes from his shoulders. Royal purple was discarded, thrown aside like it was nothing. For a moment, it did not matter who was prince or who was knight, or where one of them began or the other ended._

_Hwanwoong looked like a king, hair pushed back from his strong forehead, dark eyes alight with golden power. He was confident, as confident like this when he should have seemed vulnerable, as he was on the battlefield in armour. Youngjo touched every inch of Hwanwoong’s naked skin, traced the hard curves of muscle, grazed his fingernails down his back. As they kissed, Youngjo knew that while none of the knights had mentioned it at dinner, this was an embrace that knew it might be the last._

_It was urgent, even desperate._

_Hwanwoong pushed his back down to the bed and caught his lips again. One hand gripped his arm, thumb brushing over the deep scar in his bicep from where he’d been wounded on the battlefield. His knee nudged at Youngjo’s legs to push them apart, and Youngjo let out a low sound from his throat, caught between excitement and worry. He’d never done this before. Never. Nothing close to it. He’d never wanted anyone other than Hwanwoong._

_‘It’s okay,’ Hwanwoong breathed against his throat, ‘I’ve got you.’_

_‘I know,’ Youngjo whispered. He’d trust Hwanwoong with everything. Nothing could ever break that trust. He let his head roll back, let himself give into heat and sensation and the last moment in which they could truly lose themselves in each other._

_There was a moment, that night, when Youngjo felt like the world stopped._

_It wasn’t until later that he realised he’d had no idea what those words meant._

~

The six of them stop by the river, the last place in which they can truly rest before entering territory that is not their own. They’ve cut through the forest to the most easterly point that the river curves in, a ride of hours already, and they dismount to fill their gourds with fresh water and wash out the sweat from their hair. The season has changed, autumn settling over the forest, but it’s still warm on horseback.

‘What are you thinking about?’ asks Hwanwoong, when he sees Youngjo looking out across the river. It is wide here, but not so wide as for them to be unable to cross. Their horses will be fine.

Youngjo looks to his left, where Dongju is letting his bare feet rest under the surface for a moment, and then to the right where Keonhee is leading his horse to drink. ‘Finding you by the river.’

Hwanwoong stands beside him. ‘You must have thought you’d seen a ghost.’

‘At first I did, but then I knew that if you were a ghost you would’ve appeared to me at home, in our bed, not bloodied in the forest.’ _Our bed._ The words slip out easily. He reaches into the pouch at his belt and takes out a smooth pebble. ‘I took this from the river that day, before I found you. Here,’ he passes it across to Hwanwoong, who turns it over in his palm. Smooth, grey, flecked with glimmers of shining white like there’s a crystal beneath the surface.

‘You should keep it,’ says Hwanwoong, placing it back in Youngjo’s hand and folding his fingers over it. ‘In case we’re separated.’

‘We’re not going to be separated,’ he snaps, quicker and harder than he planned. He lifts his hand to throw the pebble into the river; he doesn’t _need_ it when he has Hwanwoong himself by his side, but Hwanwoong catches his wrist and peels his fingers away again.

‘ _Fine_ ,’ he says, ‘if you’re going to be stupid, then I’ll have it.’

Youngjo turns back to the other knights as Hwanwoong stalks away.

Dongju looks younger than ever, younger than he did last time even, but maybe that’s just because Youngjo feels older. Last time, he was a youth riding to war with his friends. This time he’s acting as king, surrounded by his most loyal knights. He crosses to Dongju and sits beside him. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, because this feels like the last moment to check in.

‘Yep!’ says Dongju with a happy hum. He looks carefree, almost too carefree, but that’s the precious reserve of the youngest; they never seem to worry like the others.

‘It’s not going to be like last time,’ says Youngjo. ‘It’s different, an assault like this, to all-out battle. We’re heading straight into the vipers’ nest, with no soldiers behind us. We only have ourselves, each other.’

‘Is this supposed to make me feel better or worse?’ Dongju raises his eyebrows.

Youngjo gulps, realising that he’s been projecting his own anxieties onto Dongju. He stands up and brushes down his clothes. ‘Never mind,’ he says quickly, and he crosses to Seoho instead. ‘Do you think we’re ready to go?’

‘You’re the prince,’ Seoho smiles, ‘it’s your call.’

‘I’m asking for your advice.’

‘Yes,’ says Seoho. ‘We need to get to the city walls by dusk, and it’s too easy to rest here forever, dip our feet and eat through our supplies and never stand back up again. I think we should go.’

Youngjo agrees.

They ride to a slightly narrower part of the river before crossing, the horses kicking up the water with a deafening sound, but Youngjo tries not to worry. Helios’ men will be scrambling to the north to defend from the sudden onslaught of their allied armies. They won’t be hanging around in the forest. Nevertheless, he rides at the front, even when Geonhak and Seoho argue to go ahead.

His stallion is bright white, the horse of a king, and a little behind him rides Hwanwoong on a jet black horse. It had taken him days in the stables and riding out to the outskirts of the woods to decide who would be his new steed. Usually, Hwanwoong would be riding at his side. Youngjo thinks that the pebble is a silly thing for him to have got wound up about.

Once they emerge into the trees again, though, and tension settles over the six of them, Hwanwoong catches him back up. Here, in enemy territory, where even the birds sound different and the canopy seems darker, Hwanwoong will ride with him shoulder-to-shoulder.

‘Do you think they’ve thrown Haechi in the dungeon, yet?’ he says, an impersonal comment but at least they’re talking.

A half-smile finds its way onto Youngjo’s face. ‘I hope so. I would’ve liked to have seen it, but we’ll deal with him once we get back.’ They left the guards with instructions to drag Haechi from his quarters some time after dawn. ‘I wonder what Helios is doing now?’

Hwanwoong’s hands tighten on the reins – Youngjo sees the strain in his leather gloves – but the rest of his body stays relaxed, face impassive. ‘Hiding away in his tower like a child. I know him. He doesn’t even organise his own military, his generals have to do it for him. I hope he’s cowering. Soon he’ll be crying for his guards to protect him.’

Hwanwoong has told Youngjo about Helios’ personal bodyguards, reminding him that while the knighthood is better trained, they should not underestimate the men that Helios surrounds himself with. Former assassins, a torturer, and guards so tall and broad that they made Hwanwoong look like a child. 

They pull up for a second when something cracks in the distance, and then Youngjo’s horse rears with a cry when an arrow shoots his way, cutting straight across his cheek. He turns, pressing his heels to get his steed back under control, as the ease of conversation turns in a split second to the adrenaline of battle. If the archer had been a better shot, Youngjo could be dead on the forest floor. He doesn’t even have time to reach for a weapon, though, before the enemy drops.

He’s yards away, dressed in the blood red of Helios’ court. An arrow nestles through his chest, almost down to the feathery fletching. Youngjo looks around, heart pounding, and sees Dongju, bow still held aloft, a very smug expression on his face.

‘Nice shot, kid,’ exhales Hwanwoong.

The five of them surround Youngjo, much to his frustration, horses pawing nervously at the ground as they sense their humans’ anxiety. The atmosphere in the forest has turned from eerie to dangerous, like there could be enemies hidden behind every tree. ‘Lone man?’ Youngjo whispers. He can feel blood dripping hot on his face, from his cheek down to his jaw.

Seoho rides out a little, sword drawn, but apart from the sound of their own horses there is no trace of disturbance amongst the trees. ‘A deserter, maybe? Fleeing the battle.’

It’s the most likely explanation. The fight will have started between their allied armies and the scrambled forces of Helios by now. This man could’ve fled through the forest southwest, in the hopes of crossing the river. _You haven’t been betrayed_ , Youngjo tells himself, closing his eyes for a second. He wonders if the anxiety will ever fade. _They don’t know you’re coming_.

Hwanwoong rides up close to him and unravels a little binding from his wrist to press it to the wound on his cheek. Youngjo winces and jerks away automatically, but Hwanwoong rolls his eyes and grabs the back of his neck to hold him there. ‘We’ll match, now,’ he says with a crooked smile.

Youngjo’s eyes snap to the scars on Hwanwoong’s cheek, reminding him exactly why they’re here, in the woods around Sun City. His stomach turns over. Hwanwoong’s face falters, like he thinks that the drop in Youngjo’s expression is because of the cut.

‘I’m kidding, hyung,’ he says, ‘it’s shallow. You’ll barely notice the scar.’

With a shake of his head, Youngjo looks down. ‘That’s not what I’m thinking about.’

‘Come on,’ Hwanwoong pats his chest, ‘you can’t have expected us to reach the citadel without a single scratch on us?’

The rest of the ride is quiet, reality having settled over all six of them now. An inch or two different, and this siege could have been over before it started. Their diversion seems to have worked, though, because they find the forest deserted. It’s almost too easy, but Youngjo reminds himself over and over that this is exactly what they’d planned. This isn’t a trap. They haven’t been betrayed.

Dusk arrives with greyish pink light. The sun seems to set differently this close to Sun City, large on the horizon so that it splits even through the tightest packed trees. The closer that they get to the city walls, the worse the knots in Youngjo’s stomach become. His mind flickers to Hwanwoong, wondering if he’s feeling even worse. He must be. They’re riding back to his prison. But when Youngjo glances at his face, his expression is completely unreadable.

The trees start to thin out, and Youngjo can see the imposing city wall ahead. It’s solid stone, three times as tall as any man. There are no windows, but no guards either, not when they’ve been drawn north. Instead of riding straight to the shadow of the wall, they travel a little around its curve. Youngjo knows what he’s looking for, and he jumps when he sees it, a smear of blue paint on the stonework.

‘Here,’ he says, pulling up his horse and dismounting.

The others follow, and their voices are low, nervous. ‘This is the place?’

Youngjo nods. They’ll leave their noble steeds here, safe under the cover of the trees and far from the battle. In the fortress, they’ll be able to help them no longer. As he pats the nose of his horse and murmurs a reassurance in his ear, the full gravity of what they are about to do drops a weight on his shoulders. It’s so heavy that he thinks he might buckle. ‘We’ll be back soon,’ he says, and his voice almost cracks. Youngjo is the heir to his bloodline; if he’s killed, then it is the end of the Kim dynasty. And he’s here with his closest friends; if anyone of _them_ are killed then he doesn’t know how he’ll ever bear the weight of a crown.

They leave everything that could weigh them down with the horses. All except for Youngjo’s anxiety, which he’ll carry with him the whole way.

‘Hwanwoong?’ he says, as the others prepare to go.

Hwanwoong turns to him and steps close, perhaps sensing that his prince needs him. ‘What is it?’ he says softly, in the same kind of tone that Youngjo used to speak to his horse as he left him.

‘I don’t – I’m –’

‘It’s alright,’ says Hwanwoong. He rests his palms on Youngjo’s chest and gives him a light shake, just to remind him to stay present. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. Breathe with me.’

Youngjo takes several shaky breaths, closing his eyes, and tries to mimic Hwanwoong’s calm breathing. How can he be so steady? How can he be so even when the man who tortured him is waiting behind these walls? He knows the answer.

Hwanwoong is fearless.

Whatever he says about himself, he’s always been fearless.

‘Come on,’ says Hwanwoong. His voice turns a little harder, and he gives Youngjo a push. ‘We need you to be our king right now.’

The slip of the tongue makes Youngjo open his eyes, but Hwanwoong has already turned away and is striding towards the painted mark on the city wall.

_King._

Youngjo chases after him to catch up. Hwanwoong is right. He has to take the lead. 

The wall looks impenetrable, but up close he can see it, just where their spy has marked it out. A secret doorway, made of stone, but with a fine line separating it from the great wall itself. Helios needed a place to smuggle things in and out of his citadel, the things that he didn’t want people seeing at the main gates. He gives the entrance an experimental push, and it falls away for him. It’s not stone at all, but wood, painted to look that way.

His heart jumps to his throat.

If they’ve been betrayed, then there will be guards waiting for them.

He goes first.

Through the wall, three feet deep in stone, and out into the shadowy street of Sun City, giving in to evening already. The three guards that watch this hidden gateway are dead, strangled on the ground less than a metre away. Youngjo’s heart pounds in his ears, and he can almost hear nothing else over the rush of his own blood, but a moment of relief hits him. Their spy has done well.

They move through the town like ghosts. Sun City has a curfew, and none of the residents dare to break it, but there are no guards here to enforce it. They’ve either gone to the distant battle, or closed in on the fortress to protect Helios. They duck their way amongst the empty streets, following the maps they memorised over and over. Already, though, they draw their swords.

If people see them through their windows, then they don’t raise the alarm.

Youngjo knows that Helios’ people live in fear of him, but also that they hate him almost as much as he does.

They close their shutters, leaving the princes and knights and kings and soldiers to their own battles.

He doesn’t blame them.

‘Here,’ whispers Youngjo, when they can see the gates of the main fortress. Finally, there are guards, and the portcullis is down. The six of them pause in the shadows. The guards are pacing, three of them, and two more lean against the high wall, talking loudly. Maybe they’re relieved to be the ones left behind, while their comrades fight in battle. Or maybe they’re bitter. They’re all dressed identically, in red cloaks and helmets that cover their faces. ‘Our spy is amongst the guards. He will reveal himself to us.’ Another spy in the chain, another chance for betrayal. Youngjo hesitates. ‘If any of you don’t want to go further, then - ’

The knights roll their eyes. It’s Keonhee who pushes past him to begin the strike.

They launch from their hiding place, sword-first, and there’s a moment of total astonishment in which the alarm is not raised.

One of the guards swings around and lifts his red cloak, revealing the blue and purple emblem of the Kim dynasty printed there, and Youngjo swivels, cutting down one of the other knights instead. Between the six of them and their spy, they subdue the guards at a lightning pace. Keonhee knocks one out, but Hwanwoong kills two, teeth clenched to keep completely silent. The guards don’t even have time to shout.

As Hwanwoong kicks aside one of the bodies and wipes the blood from his sword on the scarlet cloak, Youngjo thinks that he’s never seen someone so ruthless. It makes his heart beat faster, and not out of fear.

Hwanwoong is magnificent.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on the thought. ‘Thank you,’ he nods to their spy, who bows low.

‘Your grace,’ he says.

‘Keonhee, you will stay here with our friends to guard the gates. Whatever happens, the portcullis must remain closed until our soldiers breach the city. We cannot allow more of Helios’ forces to return to the fortress.’ He refers to the two spies as friends, the one before them and the one from the city wall who runs from the shadows, also bearing the Kim insignia on his cloak, turned inside out.

Keonhee nods. He’s always been more powerful in defence than attack. This has been their plan from the start. ‘Of course, sire.’

The spies nod too, and Youngjo thinks for a second that their lives are now hung in balance just like his. If the assault fails, it they are caught as spies, they will be killed in the worst ways imaginable. ‘Thank you,’ he says again, and he hopes that the earnest shows in his voice. ‘Your loyalty will be rewarded.’

They raise the portcullis only high enough to slip inside, and then the knots in Youngjo’s stomach turn to raging dragons. From entering the enemy territory, to entering the city walls, to entering the fortress itself. He bows to Keonhee, reminding himself that he’ll see him again in a few hours, and then turns to the others.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

They nod. Dongju looks excited. Hwanwoong’s face is calm again.

The courtyard is almost deserted of guards and Youngjo’s heart gives another leap. One of their spies was due to cause a diversion at sundown near the stables, round the back of the fortress, to draw the guards away. It must have worked. But they don’t have much time. Phantoms swathed in black, the five of them dart across the courtyard. Someone shouts, and Dongju fires an arrow in a second.

He’s become a good archer. Very good.

They reach one of the covered walkways of the palace, jumping over the waist-high wall with ease. A servant screams, but Hwanwoong catches her in a second, a hand over her mouth. ‘We’re not here to hurt you,’ he whispers until the scream dies. ‘Go,’ he says, before freeing her, and she runs to the courtyard without a sound or a backward glance. Youngjo wonders how many people in the palace are truly loyal to Helios.

Not many of them.

‘Helios will already be in his south tower,’ says Hwanwoong in a low, urgent voice.

‘Then it’s time for us to part,’ says Seoho.

Seoho, Geonhak and Dongju have a different destiny in the fortress. They will move north and cause chaos, meet with the other spies to sow discord in every corner of the palace until the guards don’t know where to turn. Their responsibility is to make sure that Youngjo and Hwanwoong are not disturbed at the south tower, that it is only them and the personal bodyguard left.

‘We’ll meet with you soon,’ says Youngjo.

Hwanwoong bows to the three of them, and Youngjo sees the worried look that Seoho casts from Hwanwoong to him. But it’s too late for him to argue. Youngjo has made his choice. Hwanwoong is the one who he must have by his side, the one who he’s always chosen to have by his side.

He watches the three of them until they turn the corner at the end of the hall, and the dragon in his belly spits fire up his body until his throat burns. When will he see them again? _Will_ he see them all again? Even with Hwanwoong by his side, he suddenly feels very alone.

‘You good?’ checks Hwanwoong.

‘Yes. Yes, I’m okay,’ he nods.

He follows Hwanwoong, because this fortress is not his territory, and in the strangest way it _is_ Hwanwoong’s.

Everything is stone, but most of it is covered in vast red hangings bearing the Helios insignia. The floors are dressed with red carpet, and the walls swathed in tapestry. None of it is artistic, but instead almost all identical. It makes Youngjo think of blood spattering the walls, the blood of all of his people who Helios has killed, and Hwanwoong’s blood, every drop of it that he stole in that dungeon. It makes him clench his hand around his sword hilt tighter.

Chaos begins before they reach the entranceway to the south wing.

The other knights have done their work.

Youngjo and Hwanwoong both flinch when there is a colossal _crash_ in the distance, and they flatten themselves against the wall as four guards run past them. They don’t even seem to notice them. Shouting kicks up in the corridors as the fortress gets out of bed, all running in the direction of the sound. If there was no turning back before, then there is certainly no turning back now.

The fighting starts in a long, empty corridor, when the two of them reach halfway towards the fork at the end. They pause as five guards appear ahead of them, and swing around to to see more guards approaching from behind. For a moment, everyone is equally dumbfounded, Youngjo and Hwanwoong realising that they are trapped, and the guards realising that there are intruders right before their eyes. The hesitation does not last long.

Youngjo throws out his arm to pull Hwnawoong behind his back, not in defence but so that they are facing opposite directions. They have no choice but to battle their way out. ‘Knights! Kim knights in the History Hall!’ one guard shouts in a tone of complete astonishment.

Hwanwoong’s back is flat against Youngjo’s, his hair brushing at his neck. ‘Finally, something to get excited about,’ he says, with that love for battle oozing from his voice.

The guards descend on them, and Youngjo’s body reacts on instinct. Fighting is less thought, and more feel, giving in to muscle memory borne from thousands of hours on the training grounds. The clang of metal on metal screeches around the hallway, and Youngjo wonders whether it sounds like music to Hwanwoong’s ears. To his own, it’s a shrieking death knell.

He kicks out at a guard to his left while he holds the force of two swords against his own. Before he can push them away, Hwanwoong is turning into him and he’s forced to swivel, swapping their position. He knocks back two guards with his shield, and they sprawl into another. Blood spatters across his chest as Hwanwoong cuts someone with a slash so merciless that they fall across to Youngjo. He pushes the body away in disgust, plunging his own sword into the abdomen of another soldier who raised his sword above his head to strike at Hwanwoong.

When only the two of them can be heard, breathing heavily over the chaos, Youngjo lowers his sword a little.

‘You really did find your taste for blood while I was gone,’ says Hwanwoong. His breathing sounds less ragged than Youngjo’s own.

Youngjo climbs over the dead or unconscious guards and sheathes his sword. ‘I don’t know which guards are the ones who beat you in the forest, which guards are the ones who tortured you. So until one proves otherwise, they’re all guilty.’ It’s true. He does not distinguish between them. Everybody in this fortress brought Hwanwoong pain. Youngjo will destroy them all if he has to, until his thirst for revenge feels satiated at last. ‘Let’s go.’

They build pace through the fortress, urgency taking over. Twice, they take a wrong turn and have to retrace their steps, but eventually they find their way to the southernmost corridor, and there they stop. One of their spies is supposed to be here, but there are no guards.

Youngjo’s mouth turns dry, and he holds out an arm to stop Hwanwoong.

The door to the south tower is locked with a rare key, and it is too heavy to be broken down. They know this information. Their spy is supposed to be _here_ , but there is no one. They edge closer to the door, framed in an archway at the end of the corridor. Youngjo’s heart pounds, and he closes his hand on the handle of the door, thinking that perhaps it has been left open already, but it does not budge. ‘What do we do?’ he whispers, before he remembers that he’s supposed to have all the answers.

Hwanwoong touches the wood with his fingertips and looks to Youngjo. The hall is so deserted. ‘I don’t know.’

Youngjo curses and draws his sword, like he’ll find a way to break down the door with a blade alone, but then there’s a clunk of a lock, and Hwanwoong grabs him by the arm, dragging him behind a strange, wrought iron statue of a mythical beast. They watch through a curve in the statue as the door swings open and a woman appears, one of the palace servants. Her hair is loose and dark, different to how the ladies wear it back in their city.

‘I’ll get it,’ whispers Hwanwoong, eyes on the oddly shaped key in her hand.

Youngjo, though, puts his hand out to stop him. He knows that Hwanwoong would never hurt an innocent, but with bloodlust in his eyes and the thrill of the fight painted all over his face Youngjo thinks he’d rather not take his chances. He steps out himself instead, unsheathing his sword slowly, with a scrape that he knows she’ll hear.

She turns, one hand balancing a silver dinner tray. Then, before he can move, she bows her head and says, ‘your grace.’

Youngjo swallows, sword tip dropping.

‘I’ve placed a powerful sleeping draught in the sweet cakes that I took to the Emperor,’ she says, in a hushed voice. She uses the title that Helios gave to himself. ‘He won’t eat, not before his food is tasted, but two of the bodyguards have eaten. I thought – I thought if I could do even one thing to help - ’

‘You’re the spy?’ says Hwanwoong in astonishment as he ducks out from his hiding place too.

_Of course_.

The identities of the spies are kept so secret that Youngjo had no idea, but it seems obvious now. No low guard would’ve had access to the precious south tower. But a servant, a woman, who nobody would suspect?

‘You’ve done well,’ says Youngjo, breath catching in his throat. ‘Here.’ He takes the long dagger that he always keeps at his belt and holds it out. ‘If people realise what is happening, you’ll need to defend yourself. Get as far away from the fortress as possible, in any direction. I – I don’t know what will happen in that tower. I can’t promise that we’ll return to protect you.’

She nods and bows before taking the dagger, and in exchange hands him the gnarled bronze key. ‘Good luck.’

They watch her go, and a strange calm settles over the corridor.

This is it.

Youngjo runs his thumb over his sword hilt, and then turns to say one last thing to Hwanwoong before he’s cut off by a cacophony of shouts and a bellow of rage. They turn, Hwanwoong grabbing the key from his hand, but then a figure staggers into the hallway and they stop.

‘Dongju!’

‘Youngjo - ’

Youngjo abandons the door in a second, sprinting across the hallway to catch the young knight. Dongju’s face is slightly grey, and he’s clutching a wound at his side that is spilling out blood.

‘I’m fine,’ says Dongju, like a kid would, but he falls against Youngjo.

‘What happened?’

‘We were separated in a fight,’ he says, ‘I don’t know where Seoho and Geonhak are. I got – I got - ’ he pulls his hands away and looks at the blood on them with wide eyes, like he’s only just realised. The wound does not look too deep, but if guards arrive then Dongju will not be strong enough to defend himself. He cannot be left alone.

Youngjo glances back to Hwanwoong, who is still frozen by the door. ‘We need to get you to safety,’ he says to Dongju, but he’s still not looking at him. Finally, when he drags his eyes back, he lifts Dongju’s arm over his shoulder. ‘Come on.’

‘It’s not a fatal wound,’ says Dongju shallowly, ‘leave me here. I’ll find – I’ll find one of the others - ’

‘No. Hwanwoong, help me.’

Hwanwoong, though, is still unmoving. He swipes his tongue across his lip. ‘You take Dongju, find Seoho and Geonhak. I’ll go on.’

‘ _No!_ ’ snaps Youngjo in fury. ‘I told you I’m not leaving you alone. We’re not being separated again.’

‘We’re too close, Youngjo,’ Hwanwoong whispers.

Youngjo can hear his urgency, even in the soft words. Every minute that they stand here is a minute wasted. He curses, lifting Dongju’s weight as he starts to slump against him. ‘Then you take Dongju. I’m the prince, I’ll - ’

‘You told me I could kill him!’ says Hwanwoong in a desperate voice, and a stone falls in Youngjo’s stomach. He knows that Hwanwoong isn’t going to give in, and he can’t leave Dongju when he’s wounded. One way or another, he’s going to have to abandon one of his knights. _Again_. ‘You _promised_ ,’ Hwanwoong goes on.

Reality hits him like a charging horse, crushing him too quick to get back up.

Hwanwoong is stronger than Dongju, he’s older. Whatever Youngjo feels, the choice is easy to make. ‘Wait for me,’ he says, even though he knows that Hwanwoong won’t.

There are not enough seconds to take in Hwanwoong’s face one more time. He looks over each feature, the speckles of blood that have spattered his jaw, the shadowy scars, and the gleaming, glittering eyes that can sense they’re close to triumph. His heart gives a pang that physically hurts, and then he turns, hoisting Dongju up his side again. Seconds, valuable seconds.

‘Youngjo - ’

‘It’s okay, you’re going to be fine,’ he murmurs to Dongju. His voice is ragged, and he feels bad for dragging him so quickly, but there is no time to lose. The floor is slippery underfoot, and he keeps tripping on the carpets. Every minute that he spends finding Seoho and Geonhak is a minute further from Hwanwoong.

_I left him._

_I left him._

He wonders if the thoughts will ever stop.

~

_They collected the dead to bring back on carts to the city. Every slain soldier would have a noble funeral, would have their name put up in royal purple in the palace. The wounded still cried out, tended to by the physicians and the other men and the women who had come to what remained of the battlefield. The sun bore down relentlessly, and when Youngjo pulled off his helmet sweat dripped from his hair down onto the torn-up fields. Once, crops had been grown here._

_‘Where’s Hwanwoong?’ he caught someone unfamiliar by the front of their breastplate, shaking him hard. ‘Have you seen Hwanwoong?’_

_When the soldier shook his head, Youngjo pushed him back out of his way and grabbed at another._

_‘Where’s Hwanwoong?’_

_Faceless soldiers shrugged at him, panicked when he caught them, a couple even pushed him away, wearied by battle. Nothing made sense. Youngjo thought he’d only taken his eyes off him for a second, but could it have been longer? Could it have been minutes? Hours? All of that felt like a second on the battlefield but suddenly he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him._

_‘Where’s Hwanwoong? Have you seen Hwanwoong?’ this time he saw the regal insignia of the knights and grabbed Keonhee’s arm, spinning him around. ‘I can’t find him.’_

_Keonhee’s face was covered with dust and droplets of blood, his eyes blank from war. He was holding a water gourd that somebody had pushed into his hand, but even in the overwhelming heat he was not drinking. ‘They – I saw them take him - ’ he said, and his voice was hollow, empty. ‘I was so far - ’_

_‘What?’ Youngjo gave his arm a shake. ‘Where? Took him where?’ His throat was raw, his head was pounding. There was a throbbing pain behind one of his eyes from exhaustion and dehydration._

_‘I don’t know,’ said Keonhee. He looked dazed._

_The words wound their way into Youngjo’s brain like a slow, creeping vine. At first, they didn’t make sense, but gradually they formed a picture._

_Hwanwoong… gone._

_With a shout of rage that turned strangled in his torn throat, he plunged his sword into the hard, dry ground, and dropped to the dust._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello <3 It’s here! The final part! It has only been 16 days since I began writing this work but it feels like so much longer. I really fell in love with these characters and it feels strange to be letting them go so soon. Thank you so much to everyone who has read the work. I know it’s not the most classic love story but it caught my attention for some reason and I’m glad that it caught the attention of some of you too.  
> I’ll see you in the next one x

Youngjo leaves Dongju with Geonhak in the feasting hall of the fortress. The room is vast, dressed up in red hangings from the ceiling and plush velvet cushions on the benches that span from wall to wall. Seoho is talking to two of their spies, one the lady who passed on the key to the south tower, and the other a burly guard who could fight three men at once. They seem to have claimed the west wing of the fortress for themselves, and Youngjo lays Dongju down gently on one of the benches, stepping away as Geonhak leans over him to bind up his wound.

‘Where is Hwanwoong?’ asks Geonhak, without looking over his shoulder, but Youngjo doesn’t answer.

He’s already running.

He even sheathes his sword as he sprints back through the castle, lest the weight slow him down. Strangely, even when he pushes his way through the people who have spilled from the depths of the fortress, no one seems to spare him a second glance. Perhaps it is because his sword is sheathed, and no one would expect that from a knight. Perhaps it is just because his mind looks occupied far away from thoughts of fighting.

The way back to the south tower seems easier this time, as if his preoccupation makes navigating the castle more simple, less over-thought. He pushes his way there, and only two guards meet his sword on the way. It’s lucky, for the rest of them, because with Hwanwoong at the other end of this journey, anyone who got in his way would be cut down without mercy.

When he reaches the hallway in which they hid away, waiting to break into the tower, he slows down. It has been minutes, valuable minutes. Fear closes a vice around his throat; not fear of Helios or the bodyguard or whatever other foe he might meet behind those doors, but of what else he might find. Hwanwoong. _Hwanwoong_.

He speeds up again and throws the door wider open, and when he steps inside he finds the trail laid out for him.

Bodies.

Two are just beyond the door, huge guards that when standing must have been more than a head taller than him and three times as broad. Their dead hands, still clenched in position, hold club-like morning stars, spiked and merciless. Youngjo steps over them, drawing his sword, and it doesn’t escape his notice or his private embarrassment that his hand starts to shake.

The tower is shadowy, and he cannot tell if it is supposed to be this way or whether the torches have been snuffed out. It must be well past the middle of the night, by now. How long has he been awake for? It seems like a lifetime ago that they set out from home; it even feels like someone else’s memory when they left their horses outside the city walls. For so long, his whole existence has been the fortress. The impenetrable fortress.

He meets a spiral staircase of solid stone, and he begins to wind his way up the tower. There is no going back, not when Hwanwoong is ahead. Whatever he will find, whatever is at the end of this staircase, he has no choice but to face. Halfway up the tower, he climbs over another body, dressed in black robes and a hood, the clothes of an assassin. From there, he begins to notice the bloodstains on the stone steps, and his heart constricts further in fear.

The thought that his death could be waiting, the end of his dynasty, is distant in his mind. All that he can think about is Hwanwoong. He’d rather find his own body, discover that his being now is nothing but a ghost, than meet Hwanwoong’s.

At last, the steps of the tower become finite, and open out onto a small circular chamber dominated by one imposing black door. Before it, there are more bodies. Terror grips him as he looks from one to the next, heart thundering in his ears, but none of them are _him_. Two are wearing the uniform of the guards, and two the same black robes of the assassin that he found dead on the stairs.

Blood is everywhere.

Blood, blood, more blood.

It’ll stain his boots.

 _What’s behind that door_?

He clenches the hilt of his sword and thinks of Hwanwoong’s words. _‘We need you to be our king_.’ A king would not flee from blood, and certainly not from fear. He would tilt up his chin and enter the room sword first.

He drops his shield. It’ll only weigh him down.

With a deep breath, he pushes open the black door. It is not locked. A creak resounds in the strange chamber as it opens, and with a flurry of information that his eyes and mind can hardly keep up with, he finally sees where Helios hides away.

The chamber is round, just like the antechamber before it. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling wearing a collection of lit candles that flicker eerily off the stone walls. There is not a bed, but a desk, wide and dark wood, covered with papers and empty drink cups. Two tapestries hang on the arc of the wall, both blood red, depicting scenes of brutality that make Youngjo want to close his eyes. The room, though, is not what catches his eye first.

It is the people.

 _Hwanwoong_.

Hwanwoong is here. Alive and breathing. He’s stood, sword at his side with the point scraping the ground, useless. His eyes flicker to Youngjo with an unreadable expression, and Youngjo searches desperately for meaning but finds none. There’s blood on his face but it’s not his own.

There are two men from the bodyguard, one towering so high that his head almost brushes the ceiling, and the other smaller, more lithe, brandishing a mean looking battle axe of polished silver. It glints in the light of the candles overhead. On the floor, two more guards lay unconscious but not bleeding; they must have eaten the laced food.

Then, behind the desk, is Helios.

Youngjo has never seen him before, but all of Hwanwoong’s descriptions make sense now that he is sat before him. Even sitting, he can tell that he is very tall, and very thin. His hair is greying at the sides and slicked back to reveal a large forehead and slightly sunken eyes. He has the air of a man who was attractive in youth. High cheekbones give way to a small, tight mouth and a very angular jaw. He’s much older than them, but that’s not surprising. This war has been waging since Youngjo was a child.

‘Youngjo,’ smiles Helios, addressing him without a hint of respect, ‘we’ve been waiting for you.’ His voice is crackly, prematurely aged, like it belongs to a very old man.

Youngjo’s eyes flicker to Hwanwoong again, but Hwanwoong is no longer looking at him. His eyes are on Helios.

The man himself continues, and Youngjo gets an impression almost instantly that he likes the sound of his own voice. ‘Hwanwoong’s methods are unorthodox, but he got you here. Brought you to me. We thought you’d never arrive.’

Again, Youngjo looks to Hwanwoong, but the knight determinedly avoids his gaze. The dragon that has been breathing fire in Youngjo’s stomach for hours turns to ice, and he’s left with nothing but an empty coldness in his belly.

_He wouldn’t betray me._

_He wouldn’t betray me._

The words go over and over in his head, repeating themselves as if to try to take back control of his mind because it’s starting to spiral into chaos. Betrayal has become the most familiar flavour on his tongue, and it tastes like blood. Helios’ words make no sense. They’re lies. Lies that sink their teeth into Youngjo and toss him from side to side without mercy, the way a wild animal might kills its prey.

‘He waited a long time, last time,’ continues Helios, with a nod towards Hwanwoong. ‘Three years, he waited for you. This time, he’s had to wait only minutes. Perhaps your desire to kill me is greater than it ever was to rescue him.’

Youngjo tightens his grip on his sword hilt and lifts it a little higher.

‘ _Enough_!’ Helios snaps, and for the first time Youngjo can understand how he created his empire. There is an authority in his voice, more dangerous than Youngjo had ever heard from his own father. It makes him falter on instinct. ‘You are outnumbered.’

Youngjo doesn’t think about the fact that Helios is unarmed, that he and Hwanwoong could take the two men of the bodyguard. Helios’ words are almost hypnotic, and he does not think to question them. His grip on belief loosens, as he wonders what ideas Helios could have planted in Hwanwoong’s mind across those years. Now that is a victim under the transfixing weight of his words, Youngjo would not blame him, would not blame Hwanwoong if he had fallen for them.

‘Drop your sword,’ Helios says in a drawl.

That command, Youngjo does not obey.

Helios sighs and turns to Hwanwoong instead. ‘Show the prince which side you stand on, Hwanwoong-ah.’ The way that he says his name makes Youngjo’s skin crawl; it’s a precious word, one that shouldn’t befall his lips.

Hwanwoong finally meets Youngjo’s eyes, and Youngjo sees that they look empty, that dull, dark look they take on sometimes when the memories of Helios rise up inside him. ‘Woong - ’ Youngjo starts, a firm voice to snap him out of it, but then Hwanwoong looks away and steps across the room. The pit of Youngjo’s abdomen feels bottomless; it’s been a while since he hasn’t been able to snap Hwanwoong back to reality with a well-placed word.

‘Ah – ah!’ Helios holds up a hand to stop him. ‘No swords.’

Hwanwoong sheathes his blade, then unhooks the scabbard from his waist and drops it to the floor. The sound is the deafening toll of a bell in Youngjo’s ears. He automatically takes a step back, but it is pointless to try to flee back out the door. There is no way that he would make it over the bodies and down that spiralling staircase quick enough to outrun them. And he cannot leave Hwanwoong alone here, no matter what twisted frame of mind he is in. It’s not his fault.

And he promised he would not leave him again.

Without Hwanwoong at his side, though, sword in hand, he is doomed.

This is the moment in which his mind should be shooting around and around with thoughts, plans, strategies, escape routes, but all that he hears is a low buzz, like an annoying bug has flown to close to his ear. His mind is empty, and the silence of the room makes his head ache. Before his very eyes, Hwanwoong walks around the back of Helios’ chair and stands at his shoulder.

‘You can either surrender, or we will take you by force,’ sighs Helios. ‘And a struggle would not be becoming of a prince.’

Youngjo grits his teeth so hard that he pushes the pain in his jaw all the way to his ear. ‘I’ll never surrender to you!’

Helios shrugs. ‘Take him,’ he says, with a wave of his hand to his bodyguards.

It all happens so quickly that Youngjo only takes one step back, raising his sword in defence as the battle axe swings towards him, and then there is a violent scuffle. Not his own. Metal clangs on metal, but the eyes of the room are drawn to Hwanwoong, Hwanwoong and Helios.

Hwanwoong’s forearm is a vice around Helios’ throat, hauling him up from the seat that has become Helios’ paltry throne, and pressed at the point where his ribcage splits is the dagger that Youngjo could have sworn he locked in the lowest drawer of his desk. The hilt is gold, encrusted with those blood-like rubies. Hwanwoong’s hand is unwavering, so steady that it makes Youngjo wonder how he’s even human. Of course he feels no fear.

The moment of distraction, the sound of Helios coughing and gasping, is enough for Youngjo to kick back the guard holding with axe and plunge his sword through his chest. Such is his strength, his rage, that he breaks straight through the leather protecting him, and he drives the blade all the way to the ground. It holds, and he cannot withdraw it, so he drops the body and grabs the fallen axe instead.

It is so heavy that his elbow drops, and he realises quickly that momentum is the only way to wield it. Before the other guard can launch at him, Helios splutters a command. ‘Stop! Enough!’

The guard freezes.

Helios throws his weight backwards and Hwanwoong’s back hits the wall with a crack that suggests his skull collided with the stone too, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, the grip around his throat becomes tighter, and Hwanwoong looks up to meet Youngjo’s eyes. There is fire all around his irises, a blaze that Youngjo worries he would not be able to control if he had to. Droplets of blood have dried down his scarred cheek as if they were scarlet tears.

The guard looks dumbfounded from Youngjo to Helios, unsure what to do. He doesn’t look bright.

‘I wouldn’t struggle too much,’ hisses Hwanwoong, close to Helios’ ear, ‘it’s not _becoming_ of an emperor. And you know that this blade is imbued with deadly poison. If my hand slips - ’

‘Stop – stop - ’ pants Helios. His voice is strangled, and not just by Hwanwoong’s grip. Youngjo knows that Helios is no knight, no prince trained for battle and prepared for death; he’s always left the dirty work to others. There’s fear loaded in his tone, driving up the pitch. ‘Hwanwoong, _stop_.’

Hwanwoong, though, has now turned his eyes to the giant guard. ‘Do you love your master? The man who named you Brute?’ he says. His teeth are tight together, and Youngjo realises that he looks the way he did in war. ‘Are you willing to die for him?’

The guard sways on the spot, his small eyes flickering from Hwanwoong to Youngjo, and then he shakes his head.

‘Then _go_ ,’ snarls Hwanwoong, and the guard doesn’t need to be told twice. He flees with a lumbering gait, careering past Youngjo.

Youngjo watches in astonishment. It is a twist that he would not have believed.

Helios is still struggling. Much taller than Hwanwoong, his legs crumple and fold as he tries to find proper footing, but Hwanwoong’s grasp makes it impossible. Youngjo was almost strangled by him once, when he was crazed from sleep, and then he had been weaker, shoulder still broken. Memory can only imagine the suffocating grip he has now. ‘So few men in this fortress are loyal to you,’ Hwanwoong grits out, ‘I was here for three years. I know them all. I turned my own spies before you could ever have turned me.’

‘Hwanwoong – _stop_ \- ’

‘You really thought - ’

‘He left you here!’ Helios gasps. A weak hand flies up to grab at Hwanwoong’s wrist, but he does not dare touch the hand holding the blade lest it brush his skin. ‘He abandoned you, Hwanwoong. Remember? Remember how you cried about it? Cried for a man who was never coming?’

Hwanwoong crooks his elbow so tightly that the words stop coming out in full. Helios’ face is a furious red, eyes starting to bulge.

‘I’m – I’m the one – who released you. He – was – never – coming - ’

Hwanwoong drops him, and Helios sprawls to the floor, sucking in desperate lungful’s of air. Youngjo starts forward in horror – to do what he is not sure – but before he moves an inch Hwanwoong has grabbed Helios again, hauling him up by the collar of his black silk jacket, so that he can face him this time.

‘If it was up to him, you would’ve rotted in my dungeon!’ shouts Helios in a hoarse, broken voice.

Hwanwoong looks over his shoulder and meets Youngjo’s eyes.

‘It’s okay,’ says Youngjo. He doesn’t move, afraid that any wrong motion could trigger the part of Hwanwoong’s mind that slips out of control. He keeps his voice gentle, soft, like speaking to a wounded animal. ‘I’m right here with you.’

Hwanwoong looks back at Helios and presses the blade of the poisoned dagger to his throat. It breaks the skin.

For a second, Helios gives into the crushing fear of death. ‘Please - ’ 

Hwanwoong slits across his throat with steady restraint, like he doesn’t want this to end too quickly. The blade cleaves through the skin with ease. Blood spits out the way that it does from the throat, and Youngjo has to look down, his stomach turning. He’s never had Hwanwoong’s tolerance for bloodshed. A part of him wishes to see the moment when life fades from Helios’ eyes, but instead he looks at Hwanwoong. He’d rather watch him, the way that vengeance spreads like the morning sun across his face.

He steps back and tosses the dagger aside as Helios falls.

Helios’ fingers scrabble at his throat, and he crawls towards Youngjo, but there is no staunching the flow of blood. There is no surviving this. It is a pitiful death for a king, or an emperor.

‘Woong,’ says Youngjo, in that same soft voice as before. With a deep breath, he reaches out and takes Hwanwoong’s wrist in his fingers, drawing him a little back. ‘Woong, it’s okay. He’s dead.’

Hwanwoong won’t tear his eyes off the body as it shudders with the last throes of dying.

‘Hwanwoongie look at me.’ The diminutive address turns Hwanwoong’s head at last, and he looks up at Youngjo with wide, glassy eyes, like he cannot believe what he has just done. ‘Come here,’ he murmurs, pulling him into his embrace. ‘It’s done. He won’t hurt you again.’

Hwanwoong does not hold him back, his arms limp at his side, but he does rest his face down in the crook of Youngjo’s neck and breathes shakily there for a moment. ‘I waited for you,’ he says, breath hot and uneven on Youngjo’s throat, ‘I waited for you because we promised we would kill him together. And because you told me to wait. Wait for you. I did what you told me to do.’

‘I know,’ whispers Youngjo. He presses a kiss to Hwanwoong’s temple, not caring if there is dried blood there. ‘I know.’

~

The allied soldiers of the Kim dynasty and the north overrun the city some time during the next morning, destroying the opposing forces but leaving the citizens safe in their homes. The knights still in the fortress subdue the last of the armed men loyal to Helios, and drag them to the feasting hall to await punishment. For this, Youngjo cedes control to the north. His thoughts are not on the remnants of Sun City, but on Hwanwoong, and on the rest of his knights.

Dongju has been taken to the physician’s room of the fortress, but is resting well with Geonhak at his side. Seoho has fallen asleep in the hall, head back against the wall and sword resting bloodied at his side. No one disturbs him. Keonhee is using his skills of diplomacy, his patience and his understanding, in helping to deliver Youngjo’s desires to the representatives from the north.

Youngjo doesn’t always have to tell him what to say. Keonhee knows what his prince would want.

In a private room, hung with red banners, Youngjo uses the torn tatters of one such banner soaked in clean water to wipe the blood from Hwanwoong’s face. ‘I did this for you once before,’ he says. ‘When we brought you back from the forest, I cleaned away all the blood just for a glimpse of you again.’

‘How unprincely of you,’ says Hwanwoong, and the corner of his lips twitch towards a smile. Over the last couple of hours, the light has returned to his eyes, and not the burning flame of battle. It’s the warm, gentle, sparkling gold light. The right words from Youngjo can bring about an almost-smile again.

‘You need to rest,’ says Youngjo, as if he has not been awake for just as long. It is well over a day since they last slept. It feels like beyond a lifetime ago that they rode out from home. He brushes back the hair from Hwanwoong’s face. It’s dried rough and tangled with sweat. ‘I’ll find you a chamber to sleep in.’

Hwanwoong shakes his head. ‘I’m not staying here. I’ll ride home first.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Youngjo sighs. ‘You need to sleep.’

‘I’m not sleeping here,’ snaps Hwanwoong, but it’s not a harsh sound, just one that cannot be argued with. ‘I’ll never sleep here.’

‘Okay,’ he nods quickly. Of course he understands why Hwanwoong would never sleep under this roof. ‘I’ll ride with you.’

‘You should stay here.’

‘I’m not leaving you alone, remember?’ he says. ‘Besides, I need to communicate with my father. The north can keep things under control here. We will ride together.’

True to his word, Youngjo passes on the last of his instructions to Keonhee before taking Hwanwoong to the stables. The north had offered them a carriage to take them home, but Hwanwoong does not like feeling trapped in such confined spaces, preferring to ride. Their horses have been rehoused here, brought in from the forest where they’d waited with such loyalty, and Youngjo sighs. His head is throbbing and his eyes keep drooping. He’s almost too tired to mount his horse, but if Hwanwoong wants to leave Sun City then leave Sun City they will.

They ride out of the city through the main gates this time, back out into the forest where Youngjo’s cheek was cut. All of that seems so long ago, like it happened to someone else. Youngjo does not feel like the Youngjo who entered Sun City. He has emerged a different person, a prince with his first true victory under his belt, but more importantly his need for vengeance satiated at last. Three years fade into nothing, now, with justice replacing the taste of betrayal on his tongue.

They ride in silence, even though there is so much to say. They are both too tired to speak.

Only when they cross the river back into their own territory, does Youngjo have to give in. ‘Hwanwoong, let’s stop here,’ he says. ‘I’m too tired to go on.’

Hwanwoong pulls up his horse and turns to him.

‘We’re in our own territory now. We’re far from Sun City. Please let’s rest.’

After a moment, Hwanwoong nods.

They stay close to the river, stripping their outer clothes to wash in the water before laying down to rest. From their horses they take down the few supplies they have, two blankets and a small tin case of provisions. Half-dressed, Youngjo lays out the blankets for them to rest on while Hwanwoong breaks up the meagre rations and passes most of them, far more than his share, to Youngjo to eat. Sleep, though, is the first thing on the mind.

Youngjo lays back, and even though daylight spills through the gaps in the trees overhead, his eyes drift shut almost immediately. The autumn air is cool, but he does not feel such a chill when Hwanwoong’s body shunts up against his, warm and familiar. He feels Hwanwoong’s fingertips tracing the scar on his arm, but he’s no longer awake so it’s the strange ethereal touch of a dream.

He does dream, but it is a strange mishmash of images. The forest features, and Hwanwoong, like his mind does not truly close off while they’re vulnerable in the open, but there’s also Helios’ body, Dongju’s wound, and the blood red tapestries of the fortress. He thought that he would sleep a couple of hours, just long enough to get his strength back, but when he jerks awake, roused by something in his dream, the sun is already low in the sky.

Hwanwoong is asleep beside him, undisturbed by his jump. He looks peaceful, maybe more peaceful than Youngjo has seen him in the months since his return. Careful not to wake him, Youngjo stands and rests his own blanket over his body, before crossing to the horses. He must prepare them to ride again, because once it is dark they will have to wait until morning to return to the city, and he doesn’t want his father to send out a search party.

He tethers the two horses together loosely, as he has before when bringing prey back from the hunts, and then wakes Hwanwoong with a gentle shake to his arm.

‘Mm – what?’ Hwanwoong turns, his eyes opening slowly. Usually, he jolts awake and lunges for his sword whenever he’s roused unnaturally, but it’s as if something has changed deep within him. He just gives Youngjo a sleepy frown, and Youngjo smiles.

‘We need to get moving. Don’t worry, you can ride with me.’

Hwanwoong makes a disgruntled sound, like _he_ was the one who had wanted to stop to rest in the first place, but he obeys Youngjo and swings himself up onto the bright white horse. Youngjo climbs up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist, the way he had when he’d brought him back from the forest on that strange, unbelievable day. This time, when Hwanwoong rests his head back against his shoulder, it is to fall back into sleep, breathing slipping into time with the rocking of the horse.

They travel slowly with the setting sun. Youngjo feels wide awake, even though his body needs much more rest, because if Hwanwoong is content, then he is content.

~

They do not speak properly until much later.

First, Youngjo is forced to meet with his father. It is a curt, professional conversation, one that stretches no longer than it needs to. Youngjo is careful to point out that it was Hwanwoong who at last slayed Helios.

Then, he meets with his courtiers, assigning tasks and messages and everything else that must be done after conquering an enemy.

Then, still dressed in the only semi-clean clothes that they’d washed in the river, he collapses into bed, under Hwanwoong’s watchful eye, and sleeps at last.

He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.

They are able to speak openly, honestly, and alone, at last the following day.

A servant draws a steaming hot bath in a deep, metal basin, large enough for the both of them. Youngjo does not think twice about bringing Hwanwoong with him; there is no one in the castle who would ever dare voice an objection to their relationship, especially not now. The servant fills the bath with flower petals and oils, and lights two burning incense sticks that flood the room with a heady, sweet scent. Then, Youngjo sends him away.

He undresses, stripping away the last of the Sun City spoiled clothes, and watches Hwanwoong’s back as he does the same. There are some scars, there, across his muscled back and shoulders and down the curve of his spine, scars from whips, but he has never mentioned them. He does not mention anything of Hwanwoong’s time spent in the dungeons of Sun City. If he ever wishes to share it with him, then he will. Until then, it is his and only his to know.

When he lowers himself into the water, Youngjo gives a low sigh. Sleep was not the cure that he’d needed for his exhausted muscles. This is better. The hot water soothes the places where his muscles tore during the battle, his right arm and somewhere around his left hip. The small cuts on his body sting but in the best kind of way. He watches as Hwanwoong walks over too and runs his fingers through Youngjo’s hair. ‘Come on,’ he smiles, and Hwanwoong obliges him.

As he joins him in the water, back against Youngjo’s chest, he lets out a sound less restrained than the prince, something like a low moan of relief.

That sound combined with the feeling of him naked and vulnerable and so beautifully invulnerable brings a thought to Youngjo’s mind: that he’ll make love to him again soon.

He’ll pick up the thread that they left three years earlier.

‘What are you thinking?’ whispers Hwanwoong.

‘Nothing.’

For a while, they give in to silence. They breathe in the steam and the sweet scent, and they begin to relax, Hwanwoong interlinking his fingers with Youngjo’s under the water. Only once they slip into true rest do their words start to finally unravel.

‘How are you feeling?’ asks Youngjo.

‘The best that I’ve felt in more than three years.’

‘Do you have any worries? Is anything hurting?’

Hwanwoong smiles and closes his eyes. ‘No.’

‘Because it would be understandable. What you’ve just been through, Woong…’

‘I’m okay,’ he says, ‘trust me. He’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore. I’m not going to have any nightmares or shed any tears about what I did in that room. It has brought me peace, not trauma.’

Youngjo nods, and then gives his back a light push. ‘Sit up. I’ll wash your hair.’

Hwanwoong obliges, his spine curving out as he wraps his arms around his legs and rests his chin down on his knees. Youngjo picks up the cup on the table by the bath and collects up water. He starts at the nape of Hwanwoong’s neck, pouring the warm water in a stream and running his fingertips into the soft hair there. It has curled with the sweat of the fight.

There is a soft soap in a dish, almost liquid, with a spicy smell. Youngjo scoops some onto his fingers and smooths it gently into Hwanwoong’s hair, working up from the nape of his neck until he’s massaging the crown of his head. It’s a moment so intimate to share that Youngjo’s heart feels full of something unfamiliar. It doesn’t beat faster, because he’s so calm in Hwanwoong’s presence, but it beats different. A little flutter, the tremor of hummingbird wings.

‘You looked so powerful in that fortress. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘A part of me wishes that you hadn’t seen me like that,’ whispers Hwanwoong.

Youngjo pauses as he circles his fingertips gently on Hwanwoong’s temples. ‘Why?’

‘I fought like an animal. Like I was in a frenzy. It wasn’t honourable.’

With a nervous breath, Youngjo lowers his hands and touches his fingers to the scars on Hwanwoong’s back. Hwanwoong flinches, but he doesn’t pull away. ‘ _This_ is dishonourable, Hwanwoong,’ he murmurs, tracing the lines. ‘What they did to _you_ was ignoble. What you did was justice. I felt honoured to fight at your side.’

When Hwanwoong doesn’t say anything else, he picks the cup up again to wash out his hair, taking the time too to massage his neck and his shoulders a little. As his fingers dig into the tired muscle, the tension begins to fade from Hwanwoong’s body again, and the ridges of his spine become less taut on the skin.

‘When did you take the dagger back?’ asks Youngjo, a thought that has been on his mind.

‘The night before we left, when you were sleeping. You were resting heavier than usual because of the wine and I know where you hide things that you don’t want people to find. I didn’t know why I took it, but something just told me that I might need it. I broke the lock and hid it in a leather scabbard.’

Youngjo nods along. He’s not angry. After another pause, he starts, ‘Helios really trusted you. He really believed that you would - ’

‘I’ve always been very convincing,’ says Hwanwoong. ‘Helios isn’t as clever as he thinks. _Wasn’t_. Wasn’t as clever as he thought.’ He corrects himself quickly and looks down at the surface of the water.

‘I love the thought of you tricking him.’ Youngjo wraps his arms around Hwanwoong’s waist and rests his chin down onto his shoulder.

‘He was easy to read. I knew all of the things that he wanted to hear. I had him wound so tightly that I could kill his men and he still thought I’d be loyal to him; he thought I was a rabid dog, controllable only by him.’

‘Well you’re not,’ says Youngjo, ‘rabid, I mean. You’re not frenzied, or dishonourable. You know that, right?’

The fact that it takes time for him to answer reminds Youngjo that their battle is not over. Helios might be dead, his presence on the land faded, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll stop living in Hwanwoong’s mind, perhaps not for a long time. The scars on his face will never heal, and the memories will live with them. Maybe Hwanwoong will still have nightmares, maybe for a long time. But winning this war gives them hope, and it gives them space to breathe.

It affords Youngjo time, so much of it, never-ending time that stretches ahead towards the future, in which he can replace Hwanwoong’s terrible memories with better ones. He’ll trace every scar with love, until Hwanwoong only recalls the gentle touch of Youngjo’s fingers on his skin instead of the cut of a blade or a whip. In the new era of peace, war will be replaced by teaching, with Youngjo and Hwanwoong training the young knights and squires down in the courtyard and Youngjo _knows_ that Hwanwoong will learn to think of himself as a noble knight and not a killer once again.

‘I know,’ says Hwanwoong, but his voice is low and he doesn’t turn to meet Youngjo’s eyes.

‘I love you, Woong,’ says Youngjo.

Hwanwoong lifts a wet hand to wipe at his face, and Youngjo doesn’t know from behind whether it’s a tear or a drop of sweat from the steam or any other motion, but he doesn’t need to know. Hwanwoong nods, leaning his head down so the bones at the top of his spine fold out in prominence. ‘I know, I love you too.’

Youngjo presses a kiss to the knot of bone and then another to his shoulder.

They don’t move until long after the water turns cold.

~

Heavy snow falls in the winter, blanketing the palace and the town and courtyard in a sheet of white. It brings an innocence to the training grounds, as the racked swords and shields wear little white hats and the dusty practice ring becomes a place for the children to play. Two noble boys, so small that the snow reaches halfway up their legs, chase Hwanwoong around the courtyard with wooden swords, their laughter filling the air and carrying to the highest towers.

From the sheltered walkway that overlooks the grounds, Youngjo watches, a smile on his lips.

Hwanwoong falls theatrically in the snow and the two children pounce on him. His pleas for mercy make Youngjo look down with a laugh.

The Hwanwoong who he has now is not the one that he once lost, nor the one that he brought back immediately after their victory, but the changes, he thinks, are for the better. In the months since the siege on Sun City, he’s found more peace, filling more of his days with walks through the gardens and hours spent in the kitchen learning to mix new wines. The Hwanwoong of before, that Youngjo had known for what felt like his whole life, would never have played with children.

It’s as if the assault on Sun City satisfied a craving that had existed within him for a very long time, and finally allowed him to see a life outside of warfare.

He still fights though.

_Oh yes._

He still fights like no one that Youngjo has ever seen.

It just doesn’t consume him entirely the way that it did before.

A few weeks earlier, they were called to assist the north in a small skirmish, and Hwanwoong rode out ahead of the soldiers on his black stallion with an army of people desperate to fight for _him_. His legend has spread across the land at a pace that even Youngjo can hardly believe. Noblemen send their sons to the palace not to be trained by the prince, but to be trained by his most favoured and illustrious knight, Hwanwoong.

Youngjo wants to go down to the courtyard, to tell the children to go back inside for some fictitious errand so that he can be alone with Hwanwoong in the snow. But he sighs. It’s unbecoming of a prince to be so selfish.

‘Sire?’

He looks up and sees Dongju hurrying down the corridor towards him. There is a tiny limp in his gait, a leftover from the wound that he sustained in Sun City, but one would not notice if they did not already know that it was there. His face is ashen, and he’s breathing heavily as if he has just run the entire length of the palace.

‘What is it?’ says Youngjo. His instincts jump to panic, heart racing in his chest.

Dongju stops, doubling over to catch his breath, and then he looks up to meet his eyes. ‘Sire, it’s your father. He’s passed.’

The words come as if from the end of a very long corridor, and they do not, for a moment, make sense in Youngjo’s brain.

There is no love in his heart for the father who betrayed him, who left Hwanwoong to die in a distant city. He does not feel sadness, nor shock, as they knew that this was coming. What hits him, as he figures out the meaning of what Dongju has said, is reality. His reality.

‘I need to talk to Hwanwoong,’ he says, voice hollow and dazed.

Dongju swallows and looks out over the courtyard. One of the kids is now riding on Hwanwoong’s shoulders. ‘The herald is going to need to make an announcement. You need to come to the great hall.’

‘I’ll be there,’ he nods, already halfway down the hall.

He doesn’t have to send the children away because Hwanwoong sees him coming and does it for him, like he can tell by the way he’s walking that something serious has happened. Hwanwoong meets him, halfway across the courtyard, snow in his hair but his face completely sober. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

Youngjo stops. The snow seeps into his shoes. He looks around to check that nobody is listening before the official announcement is made. ‘The king is dead,’ he says, and hearing the words from his own lips makes them real.

Hwanwoong looks up at him and his mouth falls just a little open in surprise. Then, he swallows, and stands up straight with the sharp bow of his head, the way that one addresses the king. ‘Long live the king.’

The shaky breath that escapes Youngjo’s lips would turn into an anxious laugh if he couldn’t see that Hwanwoong was deadly serious. _King_. He is going to be king. Everything will change, now. He rests a hand at the back of Hwanwoong’s neck and presses a tight kiss to his forehead in the hopes that it conveys his anxiety, and sure enough Hwanwoong looks up and meets his eyes.

‘What do I do?’ whispers Youngjo. His hands are trembling.

Hwanwoong catches them in his to hold them still. ‘First, you must go to your father’s chambers to pay your last respects. And then we will go to the great hall to herald the announcement. Youngjo - ’ He keeps hold of his hand when Youngjo makes to turn away. ‘My love, everything’s going to be okay. You’ve been king in all but name for a long time. You’re ready. You’ve spent your life preparing for this moment.’

He nods rapidly, but fear has a grip on his throat.

From this moment forward, everything is on him. The safety of his people, the strength of his armies, the protection of his kingdom. There is no longer one other person to defer to. The Youngjo of youth, the man he knew, disappears in a flash and is replaced by a new version of himself, a version that sits isolated on a throne. If Hwanwoong weren’t holding him tight, Youngjo would think that he’s never felt more alone. That, he knows, is the life of a king.

But he has Hwanwoong by his side. He has Seoho and Geonhak and Keonhee and Dongju, his circle of knights who are the envy of all the land.

‘You’re not alone,’ says Hwanwoong, and it’s not the first time that Youngjo feels like he can read his thoughts. ‘I won’t leave your side.’

~

The coronation does not take place for several weeks, owing to the need for a long period of mourning. The grand funeral lasts several days, first with a procession through the city, and then with a large banquet for the lords of different wards who tell stories of their times with the former king. Youngjo alone does not eat, as the king’s son is obliged to fast for the length of the proceedings. On the day, too, that he lays his father to rest in a grand tomb out far from the town, he is met by the courtiers who tell him that they will begin work on his own coffin that very day.

It is tradition, but not one that sits well in Youngjo’s empty stomach.

When the funeral is complete, the kingdom enters onto the long phase of mourning, and the date of the coronation is set for early spring. It is a more auspicious time, one that will herald in the new reign with promises of new birth and growth.

‘I will wed you,’ murmurs Youngjo, on the eve of his coronation. He will not sleep, and he knows that Hwanwoong will not either, so he speaks into the low-lit room without hesitation. Two oil lamps burn, casting them into orange and gold light, as they lay in bed. As he speaks, he takes Hwanwoong into his arms and brings him into a long, languid kiss, his tongue tracing pretty lines on his lip and his teeth grazing the vulnerable skin. He’s never tired of _feeling_ Hwanwoong, taking in his everything when they’d close together like this.

‘What do you mean?’ Hwanwoong whispers, when they break apart.

‘Once I’m king, the laws are my own. I can do whatever I want. And the first thing I will do is put you on a throne at my side, where you belong.’

‘What about heirs?’

‘We will adopt a son,’ shrugs Youngjo. He has thought about their future for much of the last couple of weeks. There will be no rule of his without Hwanwoong at his side, without everyone acknowledging him as his lover as well as his fighter. ‘There are many noble boys who have been orphaned by war.’

‘You’ve always been too good to rule,’ laughs Hwanwoong. ‘Always with your mind on helping the vulnerable.’

‘Too good to rule? I think that makes me very well-suited to be king,’ he says, even though he knows that Hwanwoong is teasing him. He traces Hwanwoong’s fine scars with three fingers and touches his thumb to his lip. Whenever he cradles his face in his hands he has to remind himself that he’s holding the whole fragile yet indestructible world. ‘Besides, we’ll rule with great balance. I’m soft-hearted and gentle, and you’re a legendary warrior.’

Hwanwoong taps his fingers on Youngjo’s bare chest. The air is cool with winter but together under the blankets Youngjo feels warm, Hwanwoong’s body heat more powerful than any fire. It is as if he can feel his very life-force burning a happy flame. ‘You know that my father is only a baronet? There are people who will not want me at your side. My blood is not truly noble.’

‘You have a title, and your family have lands. I will hear no objection.’

They fall into a silence, and Youngjo is relieved that Hwanwoong did not object. He worried that he would want to remain his knight only, a powerful shadow at his side but never taking that step forward.

It is, as it always has been, Hwanwoong who breaks the silence.

‘Are you nervous about tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’ It is the honest answer. Tomorrow will be the first time that he wears the crown, and he knows that it is heavier than it looks, not only in the weight of gold and jewels but in the responsibility it bears, something so different to when he carried the title of prince. Furthermore, everything in the ceremony must go perfectly else people will worry about bad omens, even though the religious men amongst the court have already spoken of the way that the stars are aligning in the most favourable formation in history for the start of Youngjo’s reign. For the first time, from tomorrow, people will call Youngjo king.

‘People will talk about your coronation for lifetimes,’ assures Hwanwoong, ‘the beginning of the finest reign our kingdom has ever known. Benevolent, compassionate, and honourable.’

‘Will you take me away from my thoughts?’ whispers Youngjo, because his hands still shake slightly when he thinks about the ceremony, and the expectations that Hwanwoong has for him are so beautiful that he worries he’ll never be able to live up to them. ‘Will you distract me?’

Hwanwoong smiles, because he knows what he means. Still, he sits up and cocks his head to the side. ‘What are you asking of me, my king?’ he asks innocently, and Youngjo groans.

‘Never call me that.’

‘But I like it,’ smirks Hwanwoong. He catches Youngjo’s lips in another deep kiss and strokes his fingers down his chest. His other hand brushes across Youngjo’s cheek and pushes the soft, dark hair back from his face. He unlaces the fabric ties at Youngjo’s hips with delicate fingers, like he truly was made to love as much as fight. ‘Close your eyes. I’ll make you feel like a king.’

~

For a long time, Youngjo does not feel free.

His life is occupied by the court, and he must take more meetings than ever. The clothes that he must wear now are stifling, different layers of starched jacket and robes and even tight shoes that seem to crush the ends of his toes. Sometimes, he watches from inside as Hwanwoong trains squires in the courtyard, dancing with his swords and playing out warfare like a song he’s sung forever, and he feels a pang of jealousy. The carefree days he enjoyed as a prince seem long in the past.

It is several weeks after his coronation, that Hwanwoong pokes him awake in the early morning. ‘Youngjo? _Youngjo_!’

He jerks awake, worried that Hwanwoong has had another one of his nightmares. Sometimes he still shakes him awake in the dead of night and asks nothing of Youngjo but to stay awake with him while the demons fade away into the darkness. When he sees the gleaming, somewhat mischievous smile on Hwanwoong’s face, he relaxes. ‘What?’

‘Surprise,’ grins Hwanwoong.

‘What’s my surprise?’ he whispers with a laugh.

Hwanwoong climbs out of bed and throws some clothes at him. ‘We’re going riding.’

‘Where?’

‘So many _questions_ ,’ he says with a roll of his eyes. ‘Get dressed.’

Youngjo obeys his orders without hesitation. He dresses for travel, under Hwanwoong’s watchful gaze. Hwanwoong dresses too, but he puts on his leather breastplate and the metal guards for his joints, too, so Youngjo copies him. He cannot imagine where they are going, clothed for travel and war when he can think of no need for either. At his belt, he hooks his amethyst studded scabbard and sword because Hwanwoong is taking his own too. He wonders if he’ll have a reason to use it again.

‘Let’s go,’ Hwanwoong pulls him by the hand out into the corridor, and Youngjo is surprised to see that his knights are waiting for him.

Seoho, Geonhak, Keonhee, Dongju. They are all dressed for travel too. His order. Reunited.

‘You almost forgot this,’ adds Hwanwoong, and he stands on the tips of his toes to place the gold crown atop Youngjo’s head.

‘Where are we riding?’ presses Youngjo down in the courtyard, where their horses are ready for them. The other men all seem to be in an excited rush, like what is awaiting them at their destination is a treat for them all and not only for the king.

Hwanwoong sweeps a purple cloak around his own shoulders, the colour of the regal family rather than the blue of the court that he had once worn, as he mounts his black horse. ‘There’s a knights’ tourney being held in far south. It is all arranged. You will not be missed here for a couple of weeks. We thought that you might be getting a little bored of being cooped up inside all day.’

Love for his order spreads across Youngjo’s chest and he has to look down to conceal his smile. He’d thought that he’d covered his cabin-fever quite well, but clearly he had been wrong. They had noticed. ‘Could I ask for any better knights?’ he sighs. With them by his side, he feels equipped to rule a kingdom.

‘I even brought you a lucky charm,’ smiles Hwanwoong as they bring their horses alongside one another. ‘To help you defeat everyone on the field.’

He unfurls his fingers and holds out a smooth grey pebble mottled with shining white. Youngjo picks it up and examines it between his forefinger and thumb with a rush of feeling in his chest, thankful that Hwanwoong stopped him throwing it back into the river all those months ago. He takes it and holds it over his heart. ‘Thank you. But I’m sure I won’t be the victor of the tourney, not when you are travelling with us.’

Hwanwoong throws his head back and laughs, a full laugh. He doesn’t hide his face or cover his mouth, or bring a self-conscious hand up over the scars on his cheek when they stretch like he sometimes used to. It’s a pure sound from his chest. ‘Do you really think I’d beat my king on the field in front of all those people?’

Youngjo glares at him. ‘Do _not_ let me win. I mean it, Hwanwoong. I’d rather they see that I have the finest knight across all of the kingdoms that to win the wreath myself. I want the entire land to see how magnificent you are.’

With a wink, Hwanwoong kicks on ahead, and Youngjo has to race to keep up with him.

‘Woong, I mean it!’

‘As if I’d ever let you win,’ Hwanwoong rolls his eyes.

It’s true. Youngjo knows that it was a foolish thing to say. There’s a golden sparkle in Hwanwoong’s eyes, the thirst for a battle that has been there since he picked himself up from the dust on the training ground as a teenager. He’s still the man that Youngjo always knew. Some things will never change.

As the six horses pound through the forest, the bright spring light gleams off the green tree leaves and the shimmering surface of the river that no longer divides territory from territory, but instead provides only a cool place to rest. Youngjo feels like a youth again. He feels the way he did before becoming king, and before Sun City, perhaps the way he did all the way back when the six of them rode into their first battle together.

With his men at his side and his love at his shoulder, he finally understands how Hwanwoong has felt for all of these years.

Fearless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to say hi to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)! ^-^  
> And please leave a comment if you have any feelings to share now that the work is done <3
> 
> (And a footnote, for anyone who is interested, that the working title for this project was 'Fearless')
> 
> This work has the first of its little vignette side pieces. For a short look at Hwanwoong’s time in Sun City, check out [The Hope I Feed On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597543).


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